


Kinder

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: Common Goal, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One teen's suicide brings the Inspector and Fraser together to help the younger brother find a forever home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Monday Night ….** _

Meg walked into the consulate well past midnight, her sky high heels in hand. Her bare feet padded silently down the hall to her office. Light from the security bulb along the street lit her way.

 _“I'm so tired of being a consulate social butterfly.”_ she thought as she opened her office door.

“No! Jimmy! Stop!” Fraser's voice carried through his office door and down the hall. Meg stood perfectly still-frozen.

“Jimmy, please.” the constable's voice carried desperation, “don't pull the trigger.”

Meg heard him scream as he relived the grisly suicide of the seventeen year old hockey player. The mournful wail sent chills down the Inspector's back. Quickly, she made her way down the hall and pounded on Fraser's door.

“Constable Fraser, open this door!” Meg hammered on the door with her small fist until it hurt, “Fraser, answer the door, it's an order!” she shouted twice before the white, wooden door flew open, nearly sucking her inside. Fraser stood ram rod straight, his dark blue eyes red rimmed, and his usually tamed hair a mess.

“Are you alright, Constable?” Meg studied her subordinate, concern in her dark brown eyes.

Ben hung his head, his thumb nail scratching at his eyebrow. Overwhelmed by the intense nightmare and the Inspector's presence, he couldn't speak. His heart still hammered, a shout hanging in his throat.

“Constable Fraser, I see that Jimmy Hellman's suicide has taken a toll on you. I'm relieving you of duty pending a psychological fitness evaluation.” Meg watched the fear in Fraser's face. She wanted to wipe away his anxiety. Fraser hadn't been himself since watching Jimmy end his own life. The Mountie's hands had still been covered in blood when she saw him. He'd been calm, eerily calm. Even Turnbull had been worried about him. Detective Vecchio had been hovering since then, as had Diefenbaker.

“Sir, I assure you, I'm perfectly fit, I ...” before he could finish, Meg cut in,

“I disagree, Constable.” she fixed him with an expression that brooked no contest. She needed to be mean to him to be kind in the end.

“You'll thank me in the long run, Fraser, you'll see.” Meg nodded decisively.

Ben looked down at his sock clad feet, head still spinning. Awkward silence settled between them.

“Carry on, Constable Fraser, I'll have a counselor lined up for you tomorrow.” Meg clasped her heels tighter and turned to go.

****

The next morning at nine o'clock, Inspector Thatcher called Fraser into her office. He wore his red serge, despite being relieved of duty.

“I've arranged for you to see Dr. Chandler, here's the information, you have a ten o'clock appointment.” she handed him a sheet of note paper. A name, address and phone number crossed the page in her clear but feminine hand.

“If I may, Sir,”

“No, you may not, Fraser.” Thatcher leaned forward, elbows on her desk.

Ben wondered at the flicker of concern in her dark chocolate eyes.

“Understood, Sir.” he nodded, his expression grim.

“Dismissed, Constable.” Meg's voice betrayed her, at least to her own ears. Fraser turned on his heel and left her office without a word. Meg lowered her head into her hands. Being a bitch was tiring sometimes.

***


	2. Chandler's Office

_**Dr. Chandler's Office ….** _

Dief trotted beside Fraser as he walked to the psychiatrist's office. The Mountie dreaded going inside. That was part of the reason he hadn't told Ray. His unofficial partner would only worry.

Dief whined then sneezed as an over dressed woman walked out the door of the medical group's office. Her perfume radiated in every direction.

“Yes, I agree, that is cheap.” the Mountie blinked at the sickly sweet scent lingering even as cars passed. Wolf and human looked a the glass doors with gleaming, gold letters and handles. Sturdy, block letters listed five doctors, Dr. Chandler at the bottom. Fraser checked his wrist watch; nine forty-five.

“It's time to go inside.” Ben toyed with his Sam Browne, wishing he had his service pistol. He'd have preferred to be in the middle of a hot fire fight than to go to a psychiatrist. Dief grumbled, looking up at the strapping, decorated, Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman.

“You don't have to go inside, feel free to wait here.” Ben gestured to the mid morning crowd walking along the sidewalk. The wolf looked up at him as if the suggestion were distasteful.

“Suit yourself, you are your own wolf.” Ben shrugged. Together, they walked up to the receptionist. The thirty-ish brunette smiled from her seat behind sliding glass windows.

“Are you a new patient?” she asked, ready to hand over a clipboard of nosy questions; standard issue to new comers.

“Yes, Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP.” he signed in and took the forms handed to him.

“Have a seat and fill these out, Dr. Chandler will be out to get you in a few minutes.” the receptionist pointed toward a small waiting room. Magazines lay on a coffee table between overstuffed chairs and a couch. Autumn leaves covered tan wallpaper accented by an olive and burnt umber Greek key. The ubiquitous painting of flowers hung over the couch.

“Sir, there are no pets allowed in the building.” the receptionist called, leaning out the sliding window.

“Oh, he's not a pet, he's an Arctic wolf.” Fraser answered, clarifying.

“Be that as it may, he's not allowed inside.” the receptionist took his answer in stride, she'd seen all kinds.

“You heard the lady, Diefenbaker, go on back to the consulate and wait for me.” Ben stood up, the wolf following him to the door. Dief took up a spot across the sidewalk from the door. He planted his haunches firmly on the cement and gave Ben his most determined expression; head high, muzzle closed, ears alert.

“Suit yourself, but don't complain about the heat.” Ben shrugged, holding the door open for a couple, an elderly lady and a surly teen.

Fraser quickly answered the questionnaire. He understood the reason behind the odd assortment of questions but answered regardless. He'd answered dozens of these kinds of forms throughout his career. He'd received mixed reactions to his answers.

“Constable Fraser.” the receptionist called.

The Mountie joined her at the door. With her stood a gentleman about Ben's age and height with dark hair and a 1940's, movie star look about him.

“I'm Dr. Chandler.” he shook Ben's hand firmly. The doctor's accent spoke of some time spent in the deep southern states.

Chandler lead him to a door at the end of the hallway. Overstuffed leather furniture greeted them. The doctor gestured for Fraser to take the arm chair to the left of his desk while he took one on the right.

“I spoke with your superior officer, Inspector Thatcher, she said you'd recently witnessed a young man commit suicide.” Dr. Chandler began, choosing not to start off softly. He couldn't abide soft soaping people. Most of his patients needed a firm, yet understanding, figure in their lives.

“Yes, Friday evening, after a youth hockey game at the Windy City Ice Rink.” Ben felt bile rising in his throat. He could still smell the copper scent of blood, still feel it gumming up his hands. His breathing fastened a tick.

“What was the young man's name?” Dr. Chandler began writing on the back of the forms Ben had answered in the waiting room.

“Jimmy Hellman, he was seventeen, a junior in high school.” Ben supplied, dryly reciting.

“What was the nature of your relationship?” Chandler didn't look up, his jaw loose as he took notes.

“I volunteer with his high school as an assistant hockey coach.” Ben answered, he didn't think he could ever look at a rink the same way again.

“Why hockey?” Dr. Chandler looked up, his dark brown eyes shielded beneath thick, dark brows.

“I'm Canadian.” Ben declared, straightening, if possible.

Dr. Chandler quickly hid his amusement. He hadn't met very many Canadians, but he knew how they felt about their beloved sport. He felt the same way about American Football.

“What I meant is, why not another sport, chess or baseball perhaps.” This promised to be an interesting case.

“My partner, Ray, his nephew bragged at school that I was friends with Mark Smithbauer, one of the parents at the high school contacted me.”

Chandler could tell that this Smithbauer was supposed to mean something in hockey circles. He'd never heard of him.

“Ray, what kind of partner is he to you?” the doctor asked as politically correct as possible. The last thing he needed was a lawsuit for malpractice.

“I first came to Chicago on the trail of the men responsible for my father's murder, and for reasons that need not be explored at this time, have remained attached as Deputy Liaison Officer here in Chicago at the Canadian Consulate. Ray, well the first Ray, assisted in the capture of Gerard, my father's partner for over thirty years in the RCMP.”

 _“What have I done?”_ Chandler thought to himself as he tried to appear to listen to the Mountie's spiel. Thatcher had warned him that Fraser had “peculiarities”, as she put it. He had no idea it would be like this.

“First Ray, excuse me, Constable, what do you mean, first Ray?” Chandler interrupted, hoping to stem the flow of information threatening to numb his brain.

“Ah, I assume I have doctor/patient confidentiality privileges?” Ben asked, fearing he'd already revealed too much.

“Yes, of course.” Chandler leaned back in his chair, covering his mouth as he listened again.

“Detective Ray Vecchio is undercover for the FBI, he was replaced by Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski, also called Ray. I wasn't aware of this until I came back to Chicago after a months' leave in the Yukon.”

Chandler's ears perked up when Fraser mentioned something about a flaming, 1972 Buick Riviera and him hanging on to the top of the roof, measuring the new, blond Ray's nose. He wondered if he should be looking for signs of a pathological liar. It all seemed too fantastic to believe. Then again, the receptionist had told him she'd witnessed the Mountie talking to his dog. The doctor decided to wait for further evidence before assuming.

“Were there any signs that Jimmy was suicidal?” Chandler studied Fraser's reaction to the question. He sensed that the officer before him had his own internal conflict.

“Not at first. Jimmy sat up in the bleachers after school, waiting for his younger brother. I introduced myself, attempted conversation, but he wouldn't open up. I continued to greet him each day, to include him in the group. The other players jeered him. I asked him why but he wouldn't answer. He retreated into his notebook. Two of the older players began picking on Jimmy's younger brother on the ice, they were quite cruel, going so far as to run him into the boards, giving him a nasty bruise and a bloody nose. Jimmy came down the bleachers, onto the ice, taking up for his brother. Coach Rudius and I managed to pull them apart, but Jimmy had beaten them to the ground, despite heavy padding and protective gear. Jimmy began playing the next week.”

“Of his own volition or did you suggest he play?” Chandler suspected the Mountie knew how to manipulate a situation when he chose.

“I did suggest that perhaps it would be beneficial for his brother, just in case the other players decided to resume bullying.” Fraser answered truthfully.

“You said you didn't notice suicidal tendencies at first, when did you begin to suspect?” Dr. Chandler asked, pen poised.

“Perhaps a month ago, but with teenagers, it could have been earlier.” Benton admitted. Jimmy had been better at camouflaging his emotions than most teens.

“You aren't often fooled by people are you, Constable?” Chandler observed. Fraser's blue eyes betrayed him. The doctor say a wave of pain, a flash of memory, cross his face.

“I didn't think Jimmy would devolve as quickly as he did.” Ben answered. Too many times to suit him, Ben had been fooled; Gerard, Victoria, to name the worst.

“You thought you could work with him, make him see that things weren't as bad as they seem?”

“Yes, actually. I felt Jimmy would benefit from my tutelage, I sensed that he needed a positive, male role model.” Fraser responded as if it were something he did everyday.

“Did something happen to exacerbate the situation?” Chandler watched as the Constable hung his head before answering.

“Two weeks ago, Jimmy's mother was arrested on solicitation charges, he and his brother were placed in foster care, thankfully, together, but Jimmy took it very hard.” This time, Ben hid his pain better.

 _“That is the stressor.”_ Dr. Chandler thought. _“This guy has mother issues.”_

“He felt that he'd failed as the man of the house?” Dr. Chandler submitted.

“Yes, I suppose so. I gave Jimmy my number at the consulate as well as Detective Vecchio's business card, should he need anything. He never called.” Benton worked his thumb over the buckle on his Stetson.

“When did the young man's death begin to affect your work?” Dr. Chandler skipped Jimmy's death on purpose. He didn't relish hearing all the gory details just yet.

“I hadn't noticed that it had. Inspector Thatcher came back to the consulate very late Monday night, I'm afraid she witnessed a nightmare.”

“You were asleep on the job?” Dr. Chandler's dark brows pulled together.

“No, precisely two years after coming to Chicago, my apartment building was burnt to the ground by an exhibition arsonist, it's a rather complicated story that would take far too long to go into, but I now live at the Canadian Consulate, in my office.” Benton ran his thumbnail over his left brow, avoiding eye contact.

“Hmm, that's interesting.” Ever the dutiful counselor, Dr. Chandler made note of Fraser's living arrangements.

“Is this the first time you've had such nightmares? I would think you'd seen a lot in your line of work.” The doctor shifted in his seat, waiting for Fraser's answer.

“Yes, I have, though I've never witnessed a suicide firsthand.” Fraser swallowed hard, his face an emotionless mask.

“Is it the boy's age or the act itself that haunts you the most?” Dr. Chandler wondered. He'd counseled many people who'd attempted suicide as well as their families. It left a scar far deeper than skin could stand.

A single chime sounded, signaling the end of the session. Fraser stood, relieved to be free of the doctor's probing questions. He'd said too much already.

“See Hazel on your way out for an appointment day after tomorrow.” Dr. Chandler shook Fraser's hand and escorted him down the hall to the receptionist's desk.

“Day after tomorrow, Hazel.” Dr. Chandler gave the brunette a perfunctory smile, taking the next clip board from the counter.

“What time, Constable?” Hazel asked, thumbing through the schedule.

“At his earliest convenience, please.” Fraser answered, wishing he didn't have to come at all.

“How's eight o'clock?” Hazel looked up from the schedule to the Mountie gripping his Stetson.

“Just fine, thank you kindly.” he answered. She nodded and handed him a business card with the time, date and doctor's name printed in blue ink on the back. Fraser took the card as another patient stepped up to the sign-in sheet. Quietly, he walked out of the office and onto the street. He took a deep, calming breath. Dief lay on the sidewalk beneath the shade of a garbage can, tongue lolling.

“What would you like to do this afternoon?” Ben asked the wolf as he raised to his feet. Dief lifted his nose to the late summer breeze and began trotting toward a concession stand two blocks away selling hot dogs and pretzels.

“It is lunch time I suppose.” Even the Mountie felt like eating comforting junk food at this point.

***  


	3. Wake Up Screaming

_**The 27** _ _**th** _ _**Precinct ….** _

Despite having eaten lunch, Dief still begged for sweets at Francesca Vecchio's desk. The Civilian Aide wore a dangerously short miniskirt and a sky blue blouse, her position emblazoned across the left side of the material.

“Hey, Frase, you're early, I thought you had to stand watch 'er something until noon.” Frannie followed him to Ray's desk, brushing up against him, most likely on purpose. Though to be fair, there were a lot of people jostling around the bullpen.

“I had an appointment this morning.” Ben answered truthfully but vaguely.

“Miss Vecchio!” Lt. Welsh bellowed from his office door, a file in hand and an angry expression on his face.

“Ugg, gotta go.” Frannie walked swiftly toward her fate. “Yes, Harding, what can I do for you?” Her voice trailed off as he closed the door behind them.

“Hey, Frase, what's up?” Ray leaned back in his chair, pulling his prescription reading glasses off and tossing them on a pile of paperwork.

“I've been relieved of duty.” Fraser sat down, Dief at his feet.

“What kinda bee's Thatcher got up her skirt this time?” Ray frowned. Thatcher loved busting balls, especially over the smallest things.

Ben recounted the story he'd told Dr. Chandler, about how the Inspector had heard him during a nightmare.

“Uggg, I wish I had a nickel for every time I wake up screamin' in the middle of the night.” Ray leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. His shoulder holster hung loose from his scrawny frame. “Course they say I'm wound kinda tight.” He shrugged, a grin splitting his face, taking ten years off his appearance. “Let me buy you lunch.” The Detective stood up, leaving his chair pushed away and his files laying open.

“Ray, there's no need, it's my turn to buy, remember?” Ben sat still, tapping his finger against the wide brim of his hat.

“Ah, I'll let ya buy the next two then.” Ray waved him off and started toward the bullpen door. Any excuse to get out of doing paperwork was a good one in his book. The unlikely pair walked out of the precinct building together, still bickering over who would pick up the lunch tab.

***

At Keith's Kitchen, Ray slid into a tomato red leather covered booth. Janine, the freshly graduated waitress, showed up at his elbow. She wore her hair in a ponytail and too much eyeliner.

“Hello, Detective, what can I get for you today?” She cooed at Ray, enamored with his cool mystique and diamond blue eyes.

“Yeah, I'll have a baked potato and beef stew, a Dr. Pepper on ice, thanks.” Ray ordered without looking at the menu or the waitress.

“Hello, Constable, what will you have?” Janine asked, her tone neutral. She was one of the few women on the planet that didn't melt every time they laid eyes on the hunky Canadian.

“Potato soup with fried cornbread and ice water, thank you kindly.” Fraser handed her the menu with a polite nod. Janine turned around and walked toward the kitchen, her heavy, biker boots thumping loudly despite Elvis playing in the background.

“So, have you ever had to see a shrink before?” Ray asked, eying Janine, wishing he were twenty years younger. Her short, pink skirt swayed over black leggings as she walked. It didn't hurt that she wore a tee shirt with his favorite band on the front.

“Yes, there is the prerequisite assessment to get into Depot, and I once went undercover as a John Doe my first year in Chicago. I was able to determine that the patients were being used as unwilling test subjects for an anti-psychotic drug that made some of them even more suicidal.” Ben pulled a few paper napkins out of the silver dispenser and wiped off the table. When he noticed it wasn't level, he used a wad of the napkins to level the table. Janine brought them their drink orders only to find Fraser ass up beneath the table.

“Uh, is everything alright?” Janine asked, puzzled by Fraser's behavior.

“Yeah, he's got this thing about uneven tables is all.” Ray explained, kicking the bench with his heel to get Fraser to come up. Shimmying out, the hatless constable knocked his noggin on the gum covered underside of the table. He sat back down, holding the crown of his head.

“Okay,” Janine shook her head before turning to leave.

“Frase, you gotta stop doin' stuff like that, this shrink will have you committed for sure.” Ray warned.

“Yes, Ray.” From his tone the detective knew he had no intention of changing his ways. The subject changed as they ate lunch.

***


	4. Paying Condolences

_**Chicago's Canadian Consulate ….** _

Ray dropped Fraser off at the consulate, for lack of a better home base. The Mountie dreaded facing the Inspector and Turnbull. Diefenbaker trotted up the front steps, hoping Turnbull had something in the oven to share. In the hallway, he and Fraser met the Inspector.

“What are you doing here?” Inspector Thatcher demanded in place of a civil greeting. She peered up at Fraser, eyes squinted.

“I live here, Sir.” Fraser answered with the first thing that rolled off his tongue. The Inspector pursed her lips, raising her eyebrow.

“I know that, Constable, I meant what are you doing back so early, I thought your appointment was at ten o'clock, it's one in the afternoon.”

“Yes, Sir, it was at ten this morning, for an hour, then I ate lunch with Ray.” Fraser clarified, standing very still as she scrutinized him carefully.

Meg had questions but couldn't very well ask them. She hated delving into his personal life as much as he did.

“Very well, Constable, carry on.” Meg turned on her heel, heading about her original business. Fraser and Dief looked at each other, both confused by the alpha female.

“I suppose I should visit Jimmy's brother.” Benton thought to himself as he and Dief walked down the hall toward his home/office. Dief stopped, sat down on his haunches and whined as if to say, are you sure you want to do that? A half a step ahead, Fraser turned to respond, Stetson in hand.

“Yes, I should pay my condolences to his family, it's only right.” The Mountie argued. He didn't actually want to see Calvin's raw grief again. The funeral had been hard enough. Benton had been to far too many funerals in his life, his mother's, father's and paternal grandparents' funerals as well as those of friends. He didn't know if he could muster a stiff upper lip much longer.

“Perhaps after I catch up on my correspondence, I do owe Sgt. Frobisher a response.” Benton sighed, disappointed with his decision. _“I_ _ **will**_ _visit Calvin and his mother this evening.”_ He procrastinated silently.

By two o'clock Benton had written Buck a letter as well as three other acquaintances. He sat back in his desk chair, twiddling his thumbs, wishing for a case to solve. Ray had been mired in paperwork in the past two weeks since the last case. Welsh hung around him like stink on a skunk, making sure he did his own paperwork. Half the time the detective couldn't remember what Fraser had typed on the reports when questioned in court. Thankfully, he answered satisfactorily on the stand.

“I should go pay my respects to Jimmy's family.” Benton stood up and retrieved his Stetson. Dief raised his head, whining.

“It must be done.” Benton straightened his Stetson and opened the office door.

“Oh, Constable.” Inspector Thatcher stepped back, hand over her heart. She'd been about to knock on the door.

“Inspector, good afternoon.” Fraser stepped back as well, startled, his hand still on the knob.

“Um, I just came to,” Meg paused, “I came to ask you if Dr. Chandler gave you a release date.” She watched her subordinate officer affix his professional mask. What she actually wanted was to ask him if he felt better, if he'd slept well, if he needed anything.

“No, not as yet, hopefully soon.” He answered.

“Yes, we are short handed here in your absence. Turnbull simply isn't up to the task of his duties as well as yours.” The Inspector tugged at her business suit jacket, flattening the pocket flaps.

“Perhaps I could help with paperwork, until I'm declared fit for duty.” Ben offered. He needed something to keep him busy while Ray took care of his own duties.

“I'll have Constable Turnbull bring your regular paperwork to be completed.” Meg nodded decisively. For the first time she saw Fraser's Stetson atop his head.

“Were you going somewhere, Constable?” She asked, toying with her own fingers.

“Yes, I was just going to visit Jimmy's family, to pay my respects.”

“Is that such a good idea, considering?” Meg watched his reaction carefully, wondering if she'd overstepped her bounds.

“I feel I owe it to them to ….” Ben didn't know what he felt he owed Jimmy's younger brother and mother. What was there to say? _I'm sorry I didn't save your son, your brother. For once, I didn't know exactly what someone had in mind. I wish it were me instead._

“Is the detective accompanying you?” Meg couldn't imagine facing a family alone, especially after witnessing such a young person's suicide first hand.

“No, Ray has to catch up on his reports, there's no need to disturb him.” Ben pulled his hand away from the door knob, clasping both of them in front of him.

“You shouldn't go alone.” Meg spoke before thinking.

“Diefenbaker is accompanying me, Sir.” The Mountie gestured to the half-wolf sitting on his haunches at his feet. The fur ball gave Meg a resigned expression as if to say, “I have no choice but to go.”

“Allow me to retrieve my purse and I'll go with you.” Meg turned on her dress boot heel and marched down the hallway toward her office. “Heaven knows he needs the supervision.” she muttered to herself.

The unlikely trio met at the front door of the consulate. Dief trailed behind the humans. He didn't like the alpha female, but Benton did and no matter what the wolf said, his opinion didn't change. Besides, the pheromones rolling off of them and the worry from the female kept Dief from sniffing out a seriously hot husky who'd just passed only minutes before.

“Hail us a cab, Constable.” Thatcher ordered, clutching her purse strap as people walked by along the sidewalk outside the consulate.

“Jimmy's mother lives only a few blocks away, Sir.” Fraser stopped in his tracks as the Inspector began vying for a cabby's attention.

“Fraser, do you see my boots?” She turned back to him, annoyed.

“Yes, Sir, I do.” Fraser responded, perplexed.

“Do they look like they were designed for walking long distances?” She pursed her wine colored lips.

Ben looked down at the black, leather knee boots she wore with a dark skirt. The stiletto heel raised her small foot off the ground at least four inches, leaving very little of her foot on the ground. The pencil skirt and fitted blazer cut quite a flattering figure from behind.

“No, Sir, they look as though they were designed to accentuate your …”

“No, they were not, hail a cab, Constable.” Meg cut him off. She knew perfectly well what they accentuated. She worked hard to leave a nice rear view in her wake.

Fraser quickly hailed a cab for them and gave the driver Jimmy's address. Neither of them spoke on the trip across town. Farther away from the consulate the city began to sprawl and recede into a wasteland. Rundown, empty buildings increased in number and boarded up houses became more frequent.

“Here you go,” The cabby rattled off the fare, looking at his riders in the rear view mirror. Fraser pulled all his US currency from the band of his Stetson.

“Oh dear.” He frowned, looking in his hat band for another bill.

“Here you go, keep the change.” Inspector Thatcher handed the driver the remainder of the fare, opening her own door. Fraser rushed around the car to her side just as the door snapped shut with a thud. Diefenbaker trotted ahead, glad to be out of the cramped car.

“I expect you to reimburse me for the cab fare, Constable.” The Inspector informed him, looking around the streets near Jimmy's home. She saw unsavory characters everywhere.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser answered, leading her toward a sad, brick building from a long gone, better era. It had once been a stately apartment building, built just before the art deco style of the late twenties. Fraser held the door open for Thatcher.

“Jimmy's mother lives on the third floor.” Fraser informed her, his face a perfectly neutral mask.

Meg frowned at him, wondering at his need to inform her of such a trivial thing.

“So, we'll take the elevator, you are familiar with elevators aren't you, Constable?” She asked sarcastically.

“Yes, Sir, but this building isn't equipped with an elevator, we'll have to walk up.” If looks could kill, Fraser would have died a painful, lingering death under the Inspector's gaze.

 _“I suppose I have no one to blame, I chose to wear these heels, I chose to come with him.”_ Meg thought to herself.

“Lead the way, Constable.” Thatcher ordered, pointing up the narrow stairway dimly lit by a small window on the second floor landing. Dief and Meg worked hard to keep up with Fraser. The Mountie tackled the stairs as if they were a mountain to be crossed.

At the top of the stairs, Fraser waited for his companions to catch up. Meg gritted her teeth to keep from gulping air and Dief's tongue lolled as he sat at their feet.

 _“How does he do it?”_ Meg looked at the white wolf, asking silently. He seemed to roll his eyes and shrug.

 _“Maybe I'm the one who needs my head examined.”_ Meg thought to herself, swallowing hard as Fraser knocked on the stained door. A ratty, dirty rug laid cockeyed outside the door.

“Yeah, who's there?” A woman's rasping voice called from somewhere inside.

“Mrs. Hellman, I'm Constable Benton Fraser, I was Jimmy and Calvin's assistant hockey coach.” The Mountie introduced himself. An instant later the door opened, Calvin peeking up at him.

“Now's not a good time, Coach, Mom's not feeling too good.” The ninth grader's green eyes pleaded for him to go away.

“I came to pay my respects to you and your mother, Calvin.” Fraser tried again.

“That's nice, but Mom doesn't want to see anyone, she says Jimmy was stupid for taking his own life, that he doesn't deserve anyone to remember him.” The youngster spoke quietly. He seemed small for his age and pale, a handful of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

“I said who's there, if it's those people from the school, tell 'em to hit the road, we can handle ourselves just fine.” Mrs. Hellman called, her voice coming closer. The door opened wider. Calvin hung his head a moment before looking back at Fraser.

“Mom, this is Coach Fraser, my hockey coach, and this is Diefenbaker.” Calvin introduced the two he knew.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hellman.”

“Coach, eh, well you look like a doorman.” A bone thin woman in her mid-thirties stood beside Calvin. Her hazel eyes were lined with dark make-up and her pock marked skin covered with a garish, orangy foundation. The apartment reeked of soured alcohol and food. Dirty dishes littered every flat surface. Stuffing poked out of the couch opposite the front door.

“Mom, Fraser's a cop.” Calvin explained as his mother looked her visitors up and down. When her eyes hit Meg her expression turned nasty.

“Then what's she, another one of those damn social workers, come to see stick your nose in where it don't belong?” Mrs. Hellman shoved past Calvin to stare directly at the Inspector.

“I'm Inspector Thatcher of the RCMP, ma'am, I'm here with Constable Fraser.” Meg didn't back

down, didn't flinch, didn't raise her voice.

“They're from Canada, Mom.” Calvin tried to explain, though he didn't understand it himself.

“I didn't know Jimmy very long, but he was fiercely protective of Calvin, that's an admirable trait.” Fraser complimented, Stetson in hand.

“If he was so protective then why'd he go and blow his own head off?” Mrs. Hellman countered, hitching a leopard print blouse up on her thin shoulder.

“Come on, Mom.” Calvin pulled at her arm, trying to get her away from the doorway. Mrs. Hellman pulled free, backhanding her son for his efforts. The boy stumbled backward and fell against the couch. Fraser pushed past Mrs. Hellman, the Inspector a step behind. Dief put himself between his humans and the scrawny female. When she stepped forward, the wolf barred his teeth and growled low in his throat.

“Are you alright, Calvin?” Fraser asked, kneeling, studying the boy's eyes and the beginning of a goose egg on the back of his head.

“Yeah, I'm okay, I've taken worse hits in hockey practice, Coach.” Calvin gave him a lopsided grin as he sat on the floor.

“You're coming with us, young man.” Meg spoke fiercely, her dark eyes shining mercilessly.

“But I don't have anywhere else to go, Grandma Hogan lives in Indiana.” Calvin looked from the authoritative stranger to Fraser.

“I'll see that you're properly taken care of until your grandmother can be contacted.” Thatcher assured him.

“Where do you think you're taking my son, he's none of your business, lady.” Mrs. Hellman demanded, her hazel eyes blazing. She heard Dief growling and stepped backward. She straightened her blouse and leggings, staring at the furry menace.

“A child, any child, in need _**is**_ my business. We're going to see that Calvin is properly fed and taken care of.” Margaret stepped closer, hands on her hips. Trash like this didn't scare her.

“I need my son, he's all I have, you can't just take him.” Mrs. Hellman began to whine, pulling out the sympathy card. Her eyes misted up and her harsh voice softened as she met the Inspector's gaze.

“What you need, Madam, is an honest job and a set of morals.” Margaret informed her, fists clenched at her sides.

“Pack a few clothes and your school books, Calvin.” Fraser sent the boy back through the apartment toward his bedroom. He came back a few minutes later to see his mother sobbing on the couch. She pulled on her hair and wailed when he looked back.

“How dare you leave your mother, I gave birth to you! I coulda killed you before you ever drew your first breath! I shoulda aborted you and your brother both!” Mrs. Hellman shouted as Fraser closed the door behind them. They could hear her shouting as they walked down the steps and up the street.

“Is she going to be alright, Coach?” Calvin asked quietly as they waited outside the corner market for a cab to arrive.

“Yes, I believe she will, eventually.” He answered truthfully.

“What is taking that cab so long?” Inspector Thatcher looked at her watch, peering up and down the nearby streets for a gray, Gemini Cab.

“This is a rather far flung neighborhood, Sir.” Fraser reminded her. It didn't slow her pacing down.

“Why do you have to call her 'Sir'?” Calvin asked, leaning in.

“It's one of the regulations of the RCMP.” Fraser had answered every question imaginable about the Force and it's rules. A few, routine questions later, the cab pulled up to the curb. Inspector Thatcher opened the door before Fraser could step in front of her.

“It's about time.” The Inspector fumed before giving the driver the address to the consulate.

“Why are we going there, aren't you going to take me to the Social Services people?” Calvin asked, mostly aimed at Fraser.

“The first thing is to take you somewhere for a good meal before I call Social Services. I'll see to it that your grandmother is contacted as soon as possible.” Thatcher answered quickly. Her mind turned over the situation she'd gotten them into from every angle. Truthfully, she had no jurisdiction to take the boy out of his mother's care. Technically, it was kidnapping. Any system that would place the boy back in those conditions needed a serious overhaul. Margaret hoped that she had the bureaucratic finesse to find a good place for Calvin.

“Is she always like this?” Calvin whispered to Fraser. All the Mountie could do was shrug. He wasn't exactly in the mood for a week's worth of sentry duty for an honest answer.

***

 


	5. Thatcher Doesn't Know Kids

_**Chicago's Canadian Consulate ….** _

After arriving at the consulate to check on Constable Turnbull, Thatcher, Fraser and Calvin walked down the street to the sub shop. Diefenbaker trotted ahead, sniffing bacon on the breeze.

“What would you like to eat?” Meg asked Calvin as they waited in line.

“I don't know.” He answered. Truthfully, he could eat one of everything on the menu, but he felt embarrassed.

“I'm buying, I don't mind.” Meg offered.

“A turkey sub?” Calvin answered, shrugging.

“Go on, Calvin, it's okay.” Meg nudged his shoulder.

“Hello, what can I get for you?” The sandwich artist asked, looking at the unusual trio. Calvin reluctantly stepped forward. Five kinds of bread, a dozen kinds of cheese and meats lined the menu, all of it new to Calvin.

“Uh,” He whirled around, “You go first, Inspector.” she and Fraser exchanged puzzled looks.

“Okay,” Meg gave the sandwich artist her order quickly, trying to be a confident example for the boy.

“Um, do you have turkey?” Calvin began, not meeting the sandwich artist's eye.

“Yes, we have turkey, ham, chicken, grilled chicken,” She went on down the list.

“Just turkey on white bread with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise, thank you kindly.” Fraser intervened, giving the young woman behind the counter a pleasant, perfunctory smile.

“Sure.” She took on a lovestruck glow.

A few minutes later, the trio took their subs, drinks and chips to a nearby table. The small, round table, better suited to two, seated two adults and one teen adequately. Fraser laid down the short sub he'd bought Dief first. Calvin began opening his sub with enthusiasm. Meg watched him as he bit into the thick, white bread, delighted to have something to eat.

“Thank you for lunch, Inspector Thatcher.” Calvin said around the second bite.

“You're welcome, please don't talk with your mouth full.” Meg reproved, her voice sharp. Calvin's face fell.

“I'm sorry.” He laid the sub down and turned to look out the window at the foot traffic going about their business. He'd embarrassed himself again.

Meg felt something tap her foot. She peered down at her feet to see Fraser's right high brown between both her feet.

“Constable Fraser, what do you think ….” When she looked up at Fraser he jerked his head to the side, toward Calvin, his face scrunched up.

“What?” Meg mouthed only to receive a long suffering look from Fraser. He again jerked his head toward Calvin. Meg finally understood.

“Oh, Calvin.” She said aloud before thinking.

“Huh?” He turned to her.

“Calvin, do you know your grandmother's phone number or address by chance?” Meg quickly covered. Fraser's expression went from long suffering to 'she's totally clueless'.

“No, my social worker might though.” The boy leaned his chin on the heel of his hand, elbow on the table.

“Elbows off the table please.” Meg shooed his arm off the small table.

“Okay.” He leaned back, hands in his lap.

“May I have a word with you, Inspector?” Fraser asked, his tone surprisingly authoritative. Confused, Meg began to protest. “Privately, please?” The Mountie stood up.

“Yes, I suppose.” Meg stood up too and followed Fraser outside.

“Calvin, we'll be right outside should you need anything.” Fraser pointed to the sidewalk beyond the sub shop. The boy simply mumbled.

Within sight but out of earshot, Fraser stopped along the sidewalk.

“What's the meaning of this, Constable?” Meg demanded. She had enough trouble without his annoyances.

“Sir, you've inadvertently embarrassed Calvin.” Fraser answered, bracing for her reprimand.

“How so?” Meg popped her hands on her hips, peering darkly up at her subordinate.

“Sir, you see, first you save him from an abusive mother and then you criticize him in front of me, someone he looks up to.” Fraser saw realization begin to dawn in her features. “I have found that image is critical during puberty, especially to younger teens.” He explained. Benton remembered his own awkward, often painful, teen years.

“I see what you mean, Constable.” Meg's features turned thoughtful. She hadn't even considered she could make Calvin feel that way.

“Ah, I see what you mean.” Meg pursed her lips, looking away thoughtfully. They stood there a moment, neither of them moving or speaking.

“Excuse me.” A pedestrian their thoughts, hoping to walk past them on the sidewalk.

“Oh, yes.” Fraser stepped aside. Together, he and Meg walked back to their table and lunches. Calvin had eaten his sub and most of his chips when they returned.

“Are you going to take me to my social worker?” Calvin looked from one adult to the other. He saw Fraser look to the Inspector for an answer.

When Meg looked up she faced two pair of expectant eyes staring at her. She laid her sandwich down and cleared her throat.

“I have a few calls to make before I make a decision.” She answered more confidently than she felt. What she really meant was, 'I haven't the faintest clue'. She finished her sub, as did Fraser. The Mounties and Calvin threw their trash away and walked back to the consulate. Diefenbaker met them along the way.

“Hey, boy, I bet you're hungry. Fraser got you a sub for later.” Calvin began scratching Dief's head and back, a smile on his face; the first Meg had seen. She walked slowly, watching the boy and the wolf out of the corner of her eye. Dief wagged his tail like an overgrown puppy. Within sight of the consulate, Calvin challenged Dief to a race. Meg and Fraser walked along together, her boot heels thumping against the cement.

“He's a good kid.” Meg commented, watching the wolf dance around Calvin's feet.

“Yes, he is. I'm hopeful his grandmother will be able to provide him a better home.” Fraser spoke with affection.

“What if she can't, or won't, what happens then?” Meg stopped. What if she'd gotten the boy's hopes up just to have them dashed?

“We'll search until I find someone in his family willing to take him in.” Fraser answered, turning slightly to speak to Meg. She collected herself behind her mask and began walking again. It wouldn't do to let Fraser see her second guessing herself.

_**At the Consulate ….** _

Meg checked her messages when she arrived, as well as the mail in her box on Turnbull's desk. She half expected there to be a expletive filled death threat from Calvin's mother on her voice mail. The only message invited her to the French consulate's semiannual, themed dinner. Meg rolled her eyes and called to RSVP.

“Now to start the hard work.” She muttered to herself. In the hallway she heard Fraser explaining who Queen Elizabeth I was in relation to Canada. The boy asked a question and Fraser's smooth, masculine voice began to drone on. Meg smiled and returned to her desk.

After searching for twenty minutes, Meg found the number for the Illinois Department of Children and Families. For a moment, she almost hung up.

“Yes, I'd like to speak to whomever is in charge of Calvin Hellman's case.” The woman on the other end asked for Meg's name along with fifteen other questions before she connected the Inspector to Callestina Roma's extension. Meg left a curt message on her voice mail before hanging up. It was a relief. She'd made the phone call, now it was Roma's turn.

***

At five o'clock, a tap on the door brought Meg out of her paperwork haze. She stowed her reading glasses before answering.

“Yes, come in.”

Very slowly, the door opened and Calvin stuck his head inside.

“Uh, Inspector, Constable Fraser wants to know if you want something to eat.” The boy stepped in timidly.

“Oh, what time is it?” Meg checked her watch, squinting at the tiny face and tinier hands.

“I don't know, all there are around here are old fashioned clocks.” Calvin shrugged.

“You don't know how to read an analog clock?” Meg asked, surprised. She'd learned to read an analog clock soon after learning her numbers.

“I'm used to electric clocks I guess.” The boy began wandering around the office, his hands shoved down into his jeans pockets. He stopped in front of the bust of Winston Churchill, done to flatter the late, British Prime Minister's appearance.

“Who's this guy?” Calvin pointed to the jowled figure.

“He was the British Prime Minister under King Geo??? VI, he and the American President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt were instrumental in winning World War II, with Canada's help.” Meg explained quickly.

“How come you and Coach Fraser know so much?” Calvin shoved his hand back in his pocket and ambled over to Meg's desk. His eyes scanned her desk, taking in her desk blotter and various office supplies.

“I can't speak for Constable Fraser, but I love history and reading. I like to know how things work and in what order.” Meg answered. Learning had come naturally and had been encouraged as she grew up.

“Yeah, that's kinda what Fraser said too. You two are kinda alike.” Calvin ran his fingers through his ragged hair. Meg made a mental note to have his hair cut before his grandmother arrived.

“Is Constable Fraser cooking or are we going out?” Meg asked, turning off her desk lamp, to change the subject.

“He said something about moose hock stew, it didn't sound very tasty.” Calvin made a face in disgust. “Even Dief turned his nose up at it.”

“We're going out then.” Meg assured him as well as herself. No, moose hock stew didn't sound edible at all.

“I'll let Coach know.” Calvin hurried back to the kitchen. A few minutes later Fraser and the boy walked out to meet Meg in the foyer. The Mountie helped her on with her suit jacket. Meg felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek and the gentle way he smoothed her lapel in the back. She stood absolutely still for a instant, letting herself disappear into the moment.

“Thanks for taking me out to eat again, you didn't have to, I'd have been fine with anything.” Calvin broke the silence, making both adults turn to him.

“You're very welcome.” Meg smiled. The boy even held the door open for her. Fraser ushered him out so that he could lock the deadbolt.

“Where's your wolf?” Meg asked Fraser when she didn't see the white fur ball.

“I promised we'd share a dessert when I came back to the consulate if he'd stay and not whine.” Fraser answered. “There isn't enough room for him and Calvin as well as you and myself.”

That was fine with Meg, she didn't want a furry chaperon anyway.

Meg tried to hail a cab, but it wasn't until Fraser stepped out into view that one slowed down. The cab driver put the Gemini cab in park so that they could get inside.

“Where to?” The driver asked as Fraser settled into the backseat, Calvin between him and Meg.

“The Violet Bovine, please.” Meg answered before her subordinate could. She gave the driver directions to an upper middle class part of the city.

***

 


	6. Night At The Inspector's

_**Dinner ….** _

Meg led the way to a black and purple clad booth near the back of the restaurant. The gray, Formica tabletop had been freshly washed and still smelled faintly of bleach. Calvin walked past two other couples enjoying their meal, a mural behind them depicting the bucolic life of violet cattle grazing along a river. Their doleful eyes watched new customers as they sat down.

“What's a bovine, Coach?” Calvin asked, his brows drawn over a frown.

“A bovine is, from the Latin, bovinnus, but in the English, as pertains to cattle, ox-like, dull, stupid, stolid, obtuse.” Fraser began, going into Professor mode.

Calvin looked from Fraser to Meg, more confused than he had been before.

“He means, it has to do with cattle.” Meg clarified. The boy nodded, satisfied with her answer.

“Why didn't you just say that, Coach?” Calvin asked Fraser.

Blinking rapidly, Fraser scrambled to come up with an answer.

“What can I get for you?” A thirty-something waitress in dark slacks and a lavender uniform shirt asked, order pad and pen in hand. She handed each of them a menu.

“I'll have a lunch order roast beef short order with green beans and iced tea, thank you.” Meg ordered easily.

“I'll have the same, thank you kindly.” Fraser handed back his menu.

Calvin studied the menu, looking at the offerings and trying to find the cheapest thing available. He looked at drink prices, meal prices and skipped dessert prices all together. Finally, he decided on a crispy chicken sandwich and water.

“Perhaps after dinner we can go to the ice cream parlor next door, they serve a wonderful fudge and cherry shake.” Meg caught Fraser's eye. “My treat.” she offered.

“That'd be great.” Calvin beamed.

Meg didn't know which gave her more pleasure, Calvin's exuberance or the complimentary nod from Fraser.

***

After milk shakes, the trio walked a bit. Fraser watched as Calvin and the Inspector talked about hockey. She proved herself quite knowledgeable on the subject, both past and present. The boy reenacted his favorite play in a recent game, much to the Inspector's delight. She gave Calvin the most genuine smile Fraser had ever seen. He wished she would grace him with a smile so free and beautiful.

“Come on, Coach, we need a centre.” Calvin called as he wielded an imaginary hockey stick.

“Do you prefer left or right winger, Calvin?” The Inspector asked, taking the right side of the sidewalk.

“Who are we playing against?” Fraser fell into the game with them.

“St. Andrew's Crusaders.” Calvin supplied, thwacking a light pole with his imaginary stick. “They think just because they go to a private school they're better than us, but we play better hockey, they're not afraid of getting hurt.” he made a distasteful face as he sent an invisible puck flying. “Jimmy would have showed them.” Calvin stopped in his tracks, his mood completely changed in less than a second.

“He played fearlessly.” Fraser laid his hand gently on the boy's shoulder for a second.

“Yeah, he did.” Calvin walked along with the adults, hands shoved into his pockets.

Fraser and the Inspector walked along with him in silence. Neither of them knew how to comfort the grieving youngster. Of the two, Fraser had lost the most. His grief still felt too fresh to comfort someone else.

At the corner, Fraser hailed them a cab back to the consulate. A street light illuminated the sidewalk just outside the front stoop. Dief peered out the window, waiting for them. Although Fraser suspected he actually waited for the roast beef in the take out box he carried. The Mountie pulled his keys out to unlock the door.

“Constable Fraser, we need to talk.” The Inspector interrupted. She stood at the foot of the steps, purse in both hands.

“I have to speak to the Inspector, would you mind taking Dief his dinner, Calvin?” Fraser asked, the door standing open.

“Yeah, sure.” The boy took the Styrofoam box and walked on inside. Dief danced around his feet, sniffing the white box and whining anxiously.

The consulate felt cavernous around the boy. Polished wood and thick pile carpet invited him inside. The scent of wood polish and fresh flowers drifted around him on the air conditioner current. Crisp, white walls and walnut paneling lined the walls. Pictures of stodgy, old people interrupted the blank spaces between doors.

 _“They're kinda creepy.”_ Calvin thought to himself as he walked slowly, heavily lidded eyes following him.

“Woof!!” Followed by an excited whine drew the boy's attention to Diefenbaker standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey, boy, here you go, just like Coach promised.” Calvin set the Styrofoam container on the floor near the back door, lid open.

***

After the door closed, Fraser stepped down to the Inspector's level. She looked up at the window for a moment before turning back to the Mountie.

“I believe Calvin should stay with me tonight. I feel that I'm better equipped to take care of him.”

Fraser looked her steadily in the eye. He was the one more familiar with Calvin, but considering his nightmares of late, he agreed with her. “I'll be at the consulate all night should you need anything.” Fraser ceded without protest.

“Alright, now that's settled, I'll be in my office until he's ready to go.” Meg nodded resolutely before starting up the steps. Her rear view, stiletto heeled boots and pencil skirt, boggled Fraser's mind as she stepped up the cement stairs ahead of him. The material clung to her hips and tone thighs. He'd been distracted with Calvin and hadn't noticed that he'd spent the whole evening with Inspector Thatcher without running into furniture or saying something idiotic. Now he couldn't remember how to spell his own name.

“Well, are you coming, Constable?” The Inspector turned at the top of the stoop and frowned down at him.

Fraser heard her voice, but not what she said. “Pardon, Sir?” He looked up at her innocently, despite the red tinge to his ears.

“I said, are you coming inside, Constable?” Thatcher repeated herself, hands on her hips.

“Yes, Sir.” He answered, taking the steps two at a time to catch up.

***

Calvin sat in the kitchen, talking to Dief when Fraser entered the consulate. He could hear the boy's voice and the wolf enjoying his meal. Calvin looked up from his seat at the small, kitchen table.

Fraser stepped in, Inspector Thatcher ahead of him. He walked down the hall while she bore left, into her office.

“Inspector Thatcher is going to take you home with her, you'll be more comfortable at her apartment.” Fraser explained, standing in the doorway.

“I was looking forward to staying here, I don't know anyone who's ever stayed in another country before without leaving Chicago.” Calvin's excitement waned.

“It is an unusual notion, isn't it.” Fraser agreed.

Calvin stood up, shoulders slumped, “I'll get my backpack.” He shuffled past Fraser, into the hallway.

When he returned, Meg stood outside her door, waiting. Fraser stood with his back to Calvin, Dief at his feet.

“Don't worry, Constable, he'll be alright with me, I have a guest room, it's just one night.” Meg assured Fraser in quiet tones.

“Yes, Sir.”

Calvin saw the Mountie cock his head to the side and begin scratching his left brow. Everyone on the hockey team recognized the gesture. Fraser was working up the courage to say something someone wouldn't like.

“You disagree, Constable?” Meg asked, one brow lifted and her lips pursed.

“I feel that Calvin would be more comfortable with someone he's at least passingly familiar with, Sir. He's already been in foster care twice...” Fraser's words trailed off when Calvin spoke.

“I'll be alright, Coach, I'm sure Ray was just joking when he said the Inspector's bite is worse than her bark.” From the look on the Inspector's face, the boy thought Ray might not have been joking after all.

“Diefenbaker and I will come by and take you to school in the morning.” Fraser quickly changed the subject.

“Okay, thanks.” Calvin avoided eye contact with the Inspector, still aware of the sour glare she'd given him earlier.

“We should be going, I'll help with your homework before bed.” Meg took Calvin's backpack and ushered him toward the front door. “Good evening, Constable.” She turned her attention back to Fraser. Calvin turned back to see the expression on the Mountie's face. He couldn't miss the concern on his coach's features. Fraser wasn't looking at Calvin, he was most definitely looking at the Inspector. Calvin had seen that look before; on his brother's face.

***

 


	7. Off To School

_**Meg's Apartment ….** _

Meg drove to her apartment, Calvin in the passenger seat. She contemplated starting a conversation but decided against it. Children weren't her forte.

“I know Coach wears a uniform, why don't you?” Calvin spoke quietly, brushing his thick, blond hair away from his face.

“Regulations don't require inspectors to wear a uniform, it's one of the privileges of rank. The Force actually has a much more modern uniform than the one Constable Fraser chooses to wear.” Meg shook her head. _“Why he insists on wearing that wool sock I'll never know.”_ she wondered silently.

“If I told anyone I wanted to be a cop I'd get laughed at.” Calvin commented dryly as he stared at passing traffic.

“It's a fine profession, there's nothing wrong with honest work. The Force has given me the chance to meet people from around the world.” Meg smiled at the thought.

“Yeah, but you gotta have money for all that stuff.” Calvin pointed out.

“Constable Fraser has had the same opportunities I have and he didn't grow up wealthy.” Meg countered.

“Yeah, I guess so.” The boy dropped the subject for the night.

***

Meg tidied up while Calvin finished his homework at the kitchen table. She hadn't used the guest room since moving in. The room had become somewhat of a storage room. Meg hastily threw everything in the closet and made the twin bed.

“Inspector, you don't have to go to any trouble, I can sleep on the couch.” Calvin offered, standing in the doorway. He looked so young and lost to Meg. His dark green eyes and round, youthful cheeks reminded her of a cherub.

“It's no trouble, I don't mind.” She straightened up, a pillow stuffed halfway into a cotton case.

“Jimmy's the only one who's ever took care of me much.” The boy shrugged, looking around at the barren room. Meg hadn't even bothered to decorate.

“Constable Fraser and I are going to make certain you have someone to take care of you from now on.” Meg tossed the pillow onto the bed and stepped closer to the boy. Hesitantly, she moved his shaggy bangs away from his face. For a moment she wondered, “How could you not love a little boy like this?”

“I finished my homework.” Calvin retreated to something neutral, something safe.

“Alright, get in the shower and I'll check it for you, okay?” Meg offered, taking up the half dressed pillow. The boy nodded and turned.

Calvin fell asleep quickly. Meg heard him toss once or twice before becoming very still. She'd checked his homework and put all the clothes he'd packed in her washer. Each and every piece had at least one hole in it, if not more. Most of them were stiff, either from lack of washing or poor upkeep. Meg fell asleep to the sound of the dryer humming.

_**Seven O'clock the Next Morning ….** _

Meg heard a familiar knock on the front door of her apartment. Coffee in hand, she opened the door for Fraser.

“Good morning, Inspector. I trust you slept well.” The Mountie greeted her, taking off his Stetson before stepping inside.

“Like a log, as usual. Calvin is in the bathroom, he'll be ready in a minute.” Meg felt more than heard Fraser trail after her toward the kitchen. She wondered how he could be so silent in his high browns. Hers creaked and thudded against the floor.

“Coffee?” She asked, setting her empty mug in the sink.

“No, thank you kindly.” Fraser turned her down politely.

“Hey, Coach, where's Dief?” Calvin walked into the living room as the Mountie stood at the kitchen table, looking longingly at the Inspector.

“He chose to wait on the sidewalk.” Fraser snapped back to reality. “Are you ready for school?” He waited for Calvin to answer but looked to the Inspector for confirmation. She nodded silently, leaning against the kitchen counter. In a long sleeve satin blouse and tailored pencil skirt, she draped nicely against the pink marble counter and pine cabinets. Ben could smell her from ten feet away.

“Yeah, I'm ready, the Inspector double checked my homework last night.” Calvin looked from the Mountie to his commanding officer. He didn't understand what he saw but knew enough not to ask.

“Right then, shall we go?” Fraser asked, setting his Stetson on his head and stepping toward the front door.

“I'll be by to pick you up after school, here's lunch money.” Meg pulled her wallet from her purse on the kitchen table. Before she even thought, she ran her fingers through his hair and pressed a quick kiss against his forehead.

“Have a good day.” Meg watched as Fraser and Calvin walked out her front door together. She moved to the window to see them meet Dief and start down the street. An unfamiliar pang filled her chest. She stopped watching Dief prance around Calvin's legs for a moment and concentrated on the new feeling. Longing, that's what filled her. Longing to be with them again. She wanted a child and a husband. Constable Fraser and Calvin had just walked out the door; a child in need of a mother. Meg wondered if Fraser wanted a wife. She sensed that he would be a good father, given the opportunity.

“Damn it, it could be me if things were different.” Meg lamented aloud to the empty apartment.

She shook herself and gathered her purse, jacket and car keys. Sweeping a glance across the living room and kitchen before she left, Meg let out a resigned sigh. Calvin and Constable Fraser were temporary in her life.

“Damn rules.” She muttered, closing the door firmly behind her.

***

 


	8. Chandler's Office Again

_**The Consulate ….** _

Meg went through her usual routine after arriving at the consulate. Turnbull brought her a mug of coffee, she re-sorted her mail, checked her e-mail and made phone calls. The last one of those phone calls had to be to the Illinois Social Services.

“Hello, I would like to speak to Callestina Roma please.” Meg waited for the receptionist to transfer her.

“Hello, Callestina Roma speaking.” A mature woman with a lush voice answered.

“I'm calling about Calvin Hellman.” Meg began, her tone authoritative. She didn't feel this would be a problem with her diplomatic skills.

“Are you a relative?” The woman on the other end of the line asked flatly.

“No, I'm not, I'm Inspector Margaret Thatcher, Chief Liaison Officer with the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago.” Meg informed her smoothly.

“What has this got to do with Social Services?” Roma asked again.

“Well, nothing, it's a long story.” Meg began, feeling a fluster coming on.

“If you aren't a relative I'm afraid I won't be able to help you, it's a against policy to discuss our clients.” The Roma answered, unrelenting.

Meg took a deep breath and decided to try one more time. “You don't understand, I need to speak to you about Calvin.”

“If you aren't his mother, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you.” The Social Services woman repeated.

“Very well, good day, Madam.” Meg gripped the telephone until her fingers turned white.

“Thank you for calling.” The phone line went dead in Meg's ear. She growled before slamming the receiver into it's cradle.

TAP, TAP, TAP,

“Come in.” Meg bellowed, shoving her reading glasses into her top drawer.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser walked in, still dressed in uniform.

“What are you doing in uniform, you're on restricted duty.” Meg snapped.

Fraser looked down at his apparel as if he hadn't noticed. He'd worn his dress reds eighty percent of the time he'd been in Chicago.

“Habit I suppose, Sir.” He answered, avoiding her icy glare.

“Has Social Services contacted you yet about Calvin?” Benton switched to a safer, or so he thought, subject.

“They most certainly have not. I tried to speak with Ms. Roma and unless I am his mother or a relative, she won't discuss his case.” Meg answered, standing up. She couldn't sit still while Fraser stood across the desk from her. He looked like he hadn't slept well again. Meg's mood softened a bit at the thought.

“Perhaps we could take Calvin to the Illinois Social Services office after school.” Fraser offered.

“Yes, that seems to be the only way to handle the situation.” Meg agreed. She followed Fraser's gaze to the analog clock hanging behind her desk. A pensive expression clouded his face for a second.

“Do you have somewhere else to be, Constable Fraser?” She asked, adjusting her pencil skirt.

“Yes, Dr. Chandler's office. I rescheduled my appointment for ten o'clock this morning.” He informed her reluctantly.

“Yes, very well, dismissed.”

“Thank you kindly, Sir.” Fraser nodded and turned on his heel. Meg wondered why she'd dismissed him, he'd been the one to come into her office. She shook her head and went back to work.

_**Dr. Chandler's Office ….** _

Fraser and left Dief at the consulate with Constable Turnbull. He gave the junior officer strict orders not to feed Dief anything other than dog food. To Dief he gave strict instructions to keep Turnbull from burning down the consulate or hurting himself.

The Mountie arrived ten minutes early for his rescheduled appointment. The receptionist greeted him, looking around him for the wolf.

“Dr. Chandler's running a few minutes behind, if you'll have a seat I'll call you.” She gave him a perfunctory smile before going back to her computer monitor.

“Thank you kindly.” Fraser turned on his heel. He took a seat near the door, Stetson on his lap. A television in the corner of the room showed a business report detailing how a charitable foundation had provided goats to starving families in Africa so they would have a renewable source of both food and income. Fraser watched the program intensely, absorbed in the novel idea.

“Constable Fraser,” Dr. Chandler's voice broke the spell. He stood at the door leading to his office. He wore a sky blue shirt with a navy and brown tie, the cuffs rolled up to just below his elbows.

“Ah, good afternoon, Doctor.” Fraser popped up, his posture straight and confident. He felt more than saw the receptionist's gaze follow him through the waiting area.

“How have you been since we last spoke?” Chandler asked genially as they walked down the corridor toward his office. Florescent lights gleamed on the surface of photographs of American National Parks.

“It's been an eventful forty-eight hours, Dr. Chandler.” Fraser answered truthfully. The doctor opened his office door and ushered the Mountie inside.

“Oh, how so?” Chandler asked, pen poised. “Have you had another nightmare?”

“No, thankfully. Inspector Thatcher insisted on accompanying me to pay my condolences to Jimmy's mother. While there, we witnessed the woman being both verbally and physically abusive to her second son, Calvin. To my surprise, the Inspector insisted we have Calvin come with us, until his grandmother can be contacted. The Inspector's reaction toward the boy is ….” Fraser's voice trailed off as he searched for the correct word. He frowned, running his thumb nail over his left eyebrow.

“Protective?” Dr. Chandler suggested.

“Yes, but no. Her treatment of the boy is maternal.” Fraser clarified.

“How is this surprising?” Chandler latched onto the confusion he saw in the Mountie's eyes. He'd met Inspector Margaret Thatcher. He admired her intelligence and elegance, as well as her beauty.

“The Inspector, while capable of handling any situation, has never struck me as maternal.” He thought back to the way she'd ran her fingers through Calvin's hair and pressed a kiss against his temple. Fraser had seen a smile on her face, a real, unguarded smile.

“This maternal side of the Inspector interests your or disturbs you?” Chandler probed, hoping to wedge the gap in Fraser's facade wider.

“Interests, ah, no, that wouldn't be appropriate.” Fraser looked at the doctor, surprised by his automatic answer.

“Do you think it would interest her if she saw a paternal side of you?” Chandler followed up.

“I hadn't thought about it.” Fraser frowned, his gaze toward the floor. The doctor scribbled away in the momentary lull.

“I suppose it's natural to want to nurture a child, especially knowing that he's had such a rough life.” Fraser spoke as if to himself.

“During our first visit, you spoke of your father being killed, do you think your reaction to to Jimmy Hellman's suicide was influenced by that?” Chandler probed, expecting a dramatic reaction.

“Perhaps.” Ben looked up at the doctor seated across from him. He avoided the other man's expectant gaze by checking his watch. Half the session remained.

“Do you know if Calvin or Jimmy had much of a relationship with their father?” The doctor switched back to a more comfortable topic. He sensed that if he pushed much farther, Fraser would shut down completely.

“Not that I'm aware of, both boys lived with their mother. I doubt if they had the same father.” Fraser answered dryly. He had always known his father's identity. There had never been any reason to question otherwise.

“Would you like to tell me about your mother?” Dr. Chandler asked casually, scribbling again.

“She died when I was six, afterward I went to live with my paternal grandparents.” Fraser again answered dryly. He'd related this tale too often.

“May I ask how she died?”

That had been a common question when Ben spoke of his mother. He'd practiced the answer, tamping down his grief and anger over the last two plus decades.

“She was killed by a man named Muldoon.”

“Was this man arrested?” Chandler started putting the puzzle pieces together.

“No, as far as I know he fell over a cliff and died. His body was never recovered.”

“That must have been difficult for you and your father. You must miss them both terribly.” Chandler watched Fraser out of the corner of his eye. The Mountie swallowed hard, staring at the wall silently for a moment.

“Yes, though I feel my father is closer to me now than when he was alive.” Ben couldn't say 'ghost' outright, especially not at a psychiatrist's office.

“Do you want to be a father someday, Constable Fraser?” Chandler asked, leaning back in his leather chair with brass studding.

“Yes, very much.” Fraser spoke quickly. There were so many things he wanted to do with a son, or daughter, that he'd never gotten to do with his own father.

“What's the hold up?”

“I have yet to marry, though there have been several offers over the years.” Fraser looked away. His awkwardness around women pained him.

“You've had women propose marriage to you?” Chandler asked, surprised.

“Yes, on numerous occasions. I doubt most of them sincerely wanted a long term relationship.” Ben ducked his head and began digging at his eyebrow. “It's quite embarrassing.”

“I'd say so.” Dr. Chandler made a note, thoughtfully chewing at his bottom lip.

“Sometimes I dream that I'm in my long underwear and I wake up to find myself surrounded by women of all shapes, sizes and ages, they press in on my until I can't breath, I clutch my pillow in front of me as they start tearing my clothes off, somehow I escape through the throng, they follow me, chasing me down the street, the farther I run the more women join the chase. I wake up in a cold sweat, about to scream.” Fraser related one of his worst nightmares.

“That's interesting. When did these dreams begin?” Chandler latched onto the dream like a dog on a bone.

“I've had them since my teens, but the dreams have worsened since arriving in Chicago.” Ben shook his head and blew out a breath, shivering at the thought of being chased by a horde of women.

“Do you see any one you know in the dreams?”

“Yes, on occasion. My friend, the real Ray Vecchio's younger sister, Francesca, is often the leader of the mob. She's petite but moves like a cheetah when she has a mind to.” Frannie gave Ben a daily work out, dodging her advances.

“I would love to hear Freud's analysis of this guy.” Chandler thought to himself.

“Does Inspector Thatcher ever feature in your dreams?”

Ben looked up at the man strangely, suspiciously. “Yes.”

Chandler knew from the set of the Mountie's jaw and the cold look in his eyes he wasn't about to elaborate. “I see you have a vivid dream life, why do you think that is?” The psychiatrist changed tactics.

“I sleep soundly for the most part.” Benton went on a five minute lecture on REM sleep processes and the benefits of self hypnosis for sleep problems.

The sound of a chime brought the session to an end. Both men stood up. Dr. Chandler walked Ben to the door.

“Alright, make an appointment for the first of next week, start keeping a dream journal, to help you sort out what's going on. As you know, dreaming is the mind's way of dealing with stress from our waking hours.” Chandler shook Ben's hand before bidding him good day.

***

 


	9. Social Services

_**The Consulate ….** _

Ben walked back to the consulate just in time for lunch. The church bell across the street chimed it's twelfth chime, releasing Turnbull from sentry duty.

“Good afternoon, Constable Fraser, how are you?” Turnbull stepped out of position and in step with Fraser.

“I'm fine, thank you kindly for asking.” Ben opened the door for them and proceeded inside. Inspector Thatcher stepped out of her office to meet them.

“Ah, there you are, it's about time.” She waved Fraser into her office, ignoring the fact that he was technically off duty.

“My superiors in Ottawa are breathing down my neck to get the Hellman paperwork. I need you to finalize your report.” Meg sat down and grabbed her coffee cup.

“Yes, Sir, is that all?” Fraser asked, holding his Stetson in front of him.

“I'll see you at two-thirty to go pick up Calvin, then we're going to the Social Services office together. That's all.” Meg nodded before sifting through a stack of files on her desk.

“Understood.” Fraser took it as his cue to leave.

***

Fraser and Thatcher stood in the principal's office waiting for Calvin. He'd been called for all to hear on the PA system

“Is everything okay? Do I have to go back to Mom's?” Calvin asked, looking from one blank, adult face to the other.

“No, Calvin, but we are going to the Social Services office.” Inspector Thatcher explained.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Branch.” Fraser nodded to the principal before turning to follow the Inspector.

“Do we have to go?” Calvin met Dief on the sidewalk, stroking his head for comfort.

“Yes, I'm afraid so, there is a lot to discuss with Ms. Roma.” Meg answered.

Calvin noticed her grave expression. “I wish I could just live with you guys, I could help out around the consulate until time to go to bed, I could earn my keep.” He saw both adults look away.

“It isn't that simple, Calvin, we have to follow the law.” Fraser spoke, avoiding eye contact.

“That stinks.” The boy muttered. Little did he know, both Mounties whole heartedly agreed.

Inspector Thatcher unlocked the passenger side door of her car for Fraser, who unlocked the back door for Dief and Calvin. The black sedan seated them efficiently but comfortably.

“Are you buckled up?” Thatcher asked Calvin, watching him in the rear view mirror before starting the car.

“Yes.” He answered, staring out the window at passing cars. Soccer moms in minivans slid past, 'proud parent of ….' stickers on their bumpers.

Dief stuck his muzzle up front, beside Meg's face. He sniffed her before moving over to Fraser.

“What is his problem.” She demanded, “If your wolf gets sick, you're cleaning it, Fraser.” Meg warned him.

“Oh, Diefenbaker isn't sick, Sir, he hasn't been inside a Volvo before, he has a passing interest in imported vehicles.” Fraser explained matter-of-factly.

“It's better than watching Coach sniff our skates looking for the guy responsible for trashing the guest locker room.” Calvin volunteered.

“I've heard he does that on occasion.” Meg met the boy's gaze in the rear view mirror. They both shivered at the thought.

“Is it a Mountie thing or just Coach?” Calvin asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“It's a characteristic unique to Constable Fraser, and his wolf.” Meg answered, glancing into the back seat.

“My work in the Yukon has mostly been hundreds of kilometers from any sort of laboratory equipment for proper analysis, it's been necessary to perform field testing with what's available.” Fraser defended himself.

“Relax, Coach, we were just teasing.” Calvin leaned forward, tapping the Mountie on the shoulder.

“Ah, I see, you were _'giving me a hard time'_ as Ray would say.” Fraser nodded, finally understanding.

***

After two Inuit stories, Meg steered the car into a parking space on the bottom level of the Illinois Social Services' parking structure. She dreaded going inside. She wanted to drive to the consulate and have Calvin do his homework in her office until time for dinner. Perhaps Fraser would join them again?

The quartet walked up to the reception desk as if it were a gallows and they were on death row. Meg laid her hand on Calvin's shoulder in time to brush Fraser's fingers doing the same. She glanced up at him. She saw the concern and reluctance in his stormy blue eyes. Meg wished she could tell him she felt sorry for the whole situation.

“How may I help you?” A forty-something man in an off white shirt and black tie asked, looking from the Mountie's unusual uniform to the woman's no nonsense expression.

“We would like to see Callestina Roma, please, it's about Calvin Hellman.” Inspector Thatcher used her take no guff voice.

“Just a moment, I'll let her know you're here.” The balding man dialed the social worker's extension.

“She'll be out in a moment, have a seat.” The receptionist pointed toward singularly ugly, orange plastic chairs lining the wall opposite him. The four of them took a seat, Diefenbaker at Calvin's feet.

“Do you think she'll put me in a foster home, Coach?” Calvin whispered, scratching Dief between the ears.

“I don't know, Calvin, hopefully we will be able to get in touch with your grandmother instead.” Fraser offered the only bright spot he could see in the situation.

“I don't know my grandmother, what if she's just like Mom?” Calvin persisted, his eyes wide and searching.

“There's no need to worry, Calvin, the Inspector and I will make certain you're cared for.”

Meg watched him lay a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder before meeting his worried gaze.

“Hello, Inspector Thatcher?” A woman's voice drew their attention to a short red head with the stereotypical freckles and green eyes. She wore her curly hair loose with dangling, wooden bead earrings.

“Yes, I'm Inspector Thatcher.” Meg stood up, striding ahead of Fraser and Calvin. Dief brought up the rear. He sniffed the air then relaxed.

“This way.” Ms. Roma gave Fraser a lingering once over.

 _“I should have gotten him to call Social Services, she'd have it taken care of already.”_ Meg thought to herself, feeling somewhat territorial over Fraser.

Callestina Roma led the party of four to her small office. Meg took a seat, gesturing for Calvin to as well. Fraser stood behind her, against the wall. Dief edged his way around the desk, sniffing at the filing cabinet in the corner. If possible, the office measured smaller than Fraser's.

“Did we speak on the phone earlier today?” Roma looked from the strapping Mountie to the shrew faced woman boring a hole through her.

“Yes, we did, I'm Inspector Meg Thatcher, this is Constable Fraser.” Meg succinctly outlined the reason for their visit.

“Ms. Hellman's mother, yes. We've tried to contact her in the past with no success.” Roma shrugged.

“May I have her name and last known phone number, I have more resources at my disposal to find her.” Meg purred, ever the diplomat.

“Sure, I'm swamped.” Roma typed on the computer for a few minutes, found what she sought and wrote it on a post-it note.

“Thank you kindly.” Meg took the note then handed it up to Fraser.

“Where are you staying, Calvin?” Roma asked, the first time she'd spoken to the boy.

“I slept over at the Inspector's house last night, she checked my homework and everything.” The boy volunteered. “I wanted to sleep at the consulate, I've never heard of anyone going to another country but never leaving the city.”

“That sounds interesting. What do you say you go out and wait for a minute, I have to talk to the Inspector and the Constable a minute.” Roma soft soaped him with a generic, charming smile.

“Okay, but I don't want to go to a foster home.” Calvin stood up, his expression defiant.

“Dief, go with him.” Fraser knelt down to the wolf's level. The white wolf gave him an affirmative huff and followed Calvin out of the office.

“I don't understand your connection to the boy.” Callestina directed her statement toward Meg.

“My junior officer is one of Calvin's hockey coaches. I accompanied Constable Fraser to the Hellman residence.” Meg answered succinctly.

“Calvin isn't some side project for you, Inspector, he's a boy who needs some semblance of stability. You can't promise him he'll be taken care of and then dump him back at his mother's when he's inconvenient or you don't feel like dealing with his issues. Do you understand?” Ms. Roma leaned across the desk, her green eyes boring a hole into Meg.

Fraser watched the color rise in the Inspector's face and her breathing quicken. He recognized all the signs of a tongue lashing coming on. The Mountie debated whether or not to interfere.

“Ms. Roma, I'll have you know I take my promises very seriously, nor do I shirk my duties.” The Inspector's tone was dangerously dark.

“Good, because I'll be visiting your home for a fitness assessment.” Callestina Roma didn't back down.

Fraser saw the wheels turning in the Inspector's mind and stepped in.

“Thank you kindly, Ms. Roma, have a good day.” Fraser laid a timid hand on the Inspector's shoulder. It wouldn't do for Calvin's social worker and Meg have a cat fight. A sliver of the Mountie's baser nature wondered what it would look like to see the two attractive women fighting.

“Good day, Constable, Inspector.” Roma nodded civilly.

Fraser felt the Inspector glare up at him more than saw it. He would be the next one on the receiving end of a tongue lashing.

“Hey, what did she say?” Calvin asked. Fraser saw his face darken when he noticed the tension between the adults.

“Ms. Roma gave us your grandmother's last known address and telephone number. I'll look into it as soon as I get to the consulate.” Meg answered, her attitude lightening as she spoke.

“Jimmy said Granny was probably screening her calls, when she saw a Chicago number she'd ignore it, ignore Mom.” Calvin rubbed Dief's head.

“We can work around that, Calvin.” Fraser sat down beside the boy, laying a comforting hand on his thin shoulder.

“Thanks, Coach.” The boy rewarded him with a smile.

“You are most welcome.”

***

 **Author's Note-** As I am not a social worker, I have absolutely no idea how such things are dealt with. Please excuse any errors I have made. Also, I have no idea what Illinois chooses to call it's child social work department. Also, St. Andrew's is a figment of my imagination.

 


	10. Cat Fight

_**Meg's Volvo …** _

The Inspector managed to hold onto her anger until they arrived at the consulate. She'd noticed Fraser's worried glances as she drove aggressively through rush hour traffic. Thankfully, Diefenbaker kept his snout to himself on the way back.

“I think Turnbull has some cookies in the oven, why don't you go ask.” Meg suggested while they walked up the steps.

“Okay, do you want one?” Calvin asked, stopping to open the door for Meg and Fraser.

“No, thank you kindly though.” Meg answered. She had other plans; plans involving a certain interfering Mountie.

“Coach?” The boy asked next.

“No, thank you, but perhaps Dief would like some fresh water.” Fraser answered, dawdling at the door.

“Constable Fraser!” The Inspector bellowed from inside.

“Good luck, Coach.” Calvin wished him as the Mountie stepped across the threshold.

“Thank you.” Fraser looked back before hanging a left at the Inspector's door.

***

Meg paced all the way around her desk, hands on her hips and lips pursed. She stopped when the door to her office opened and Fraser walked in. Staying mad at him proved difficult, especially when he had that innocent deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. Meg stood in front of him and glared up at her junior officer a moment before speaking.

“I did not appreciate your behavior in Ms. Roma's office, I wasn't finished speaking with her.” Meg took a deep breath, her gaze steady and demanding.

“If I may, Sir,” Fraser interjected before she could get going again.

“What?” Meg snapped.

“I thought it best not to antagonize Ms. Roma, she will be the one to approve or deny your fitness assessment.”

He had a point, Meg knew. _“But does he always have to be right?”_ She wondered silently.

The lady Mountie crossed her arms and turned her back on Fraser.

“The sooner we find Calvin's grandmother the better for him.” Meg changed the subject.

“Perhaps Ray would be willing to help.” Fraser suggested. He hadn't seen his friend in a couple of days.

“Yes, let me know if I need to call Lieutenant Welsh, should there be any problems.” Meg stepped around her desk and sat down. She had a sheaf of paperwork yet to do and a fitness assessment to prepare for after work. When she looked up again, Fraser still stood in front of her desk.

“Dismissed, Constable.” She rolled her eyes. He was off duty for Pete's sake.

***

The Twenty-seventh Precinct hummed along busily. Francesca sat at her desk near the entrance, gabbing on the telephone and painting her nails a neon blue to match her uniform blouse.

“Good afternoon, Francesca.” Fraser greeted her, doffing his Stetson before taking it off.

“Hi, Fraser.” The civilian aide hung up the phone without telling the other party good-bye. “How've you been, since.... since, well, you know.” Frannie shrugged, uneasy with the subject.

“I'm fine, thank you kindly, Francesca. Is Ray here?” Fraser felt himself stiffen at the mention of Jimmy's suicide.

“He's following a clue or somethin', been gone all day. Maybe I could help?” Frannie offered, batting her thick, dark lashes.

“Do you mean, _'following a lead'_?” Fraser asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, a lead, 'cause Ray doesn't have a clue.” She turned it into a joke.

“Perhaps you could help, I'm searching for Calvin Hellman's grandmother, here's her last known address and phone number.” Fraser handed the civilian aide a slip of paper.

“I'll get right on it.” Frannie gave him a winning smile and fired up the computer on her desk.

“This is that kid's little brother, ain't it?” Frannie looked up at the Mountie solemnly.

“Yes, it is, he's currently staying with the Inspector, until we can find his grandmother.” It didn't surprise him to see Francesca roll her eyes at the mention of the Inspector. They weren't friendly rivals for his attention he suspected.

“Well, nothing so far, but I'll keep digging and let you know. How about you bring the boy by the house for dinner and he can play with Maria's kids.” Frannie suggested.

“I'll ask Calvin.” Fraser promised her.

“Ask Calvin what?” Ray asked, breaking into the conversation.

“Hello, Ray.” Fraser greeted the blond detective.

“What ya up to, Benny?” Ray took a swig of his chocolate laced coffee.

“I'm attempting to find Calvin Hellman's grandmother. Francesca has offered to help.” Fraser informed him.

“I'm surprised you haven't run this though the Mountie system by now.” Ray pulled his prescription reading glasses from his jacket pocket to peer over Frannie's shoulder.

“The Inspector is working on it as we speak.” More likely she was sitting across the desk from Calvin, helping him with Math homework and eating cookies.

Fraser followed Ray to his desk, away from Francesca. They took their usual positions on opposite sides of the desk. Ray leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee.

“How you holding up?” Ray asked in tune with the hum of the bull pen.

“I'm doing quite well, thank you kindly.” Fraser answered, his blank, Mountie mask in place.

“Yeah, right.” Ray snorted. The Mountie mask didn't fool him, at least not this time.

“I'm alright, Ray.” Fraser repeated more softly. He had to help Calvin, he felt he owed it to Jimmy.

“Okay, Frase, I take your word for it.” Ray shrugged, his ice blue eyes never leaving the Mountie's face.

Fraser gave him a small smile for his concern. They'd talk about it later. That's when the real therapy would begin.

“Where's the kid stayin', at the consulate with you and Dief?” ray changed the subject, thankfully for both of them.

“No, Inspector Thatcher has taken him in, she seems quite fond of Calvin, in her way.” Fraser looked down at his high browns, thinking back to the way she laid her hand on Calvin's shoulder and the way she'd ruffled his hair that morning.

“Sheesh, poor kid.” Ray shuddered.

“Ray!” Fraser admonished. It was an old argument between them.

“So, how'd the two of you end up with him?” Ray didn't beat around the bush. Quickly, Benton filled his friend in on the details.

“If it wasn't the two of you, I'd say it was kidnapping, I'm surprised the social worker let you by with it.” Ray drained the rest of his coffee as he sorted his messages.

“As am I, but Ms. Roma did say she was overwhelmed with cases.” Fraser reasoned.

“If you can't trust a Mountie, who can you trust?” Ray quipped, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Indeed.” Fraser agreed, ignoring the jibe.

***

It didn't take Fraser long to get roped into helping Ray finish two weeks worth of reports that needed typed and filed. The blond detective gathered the necessary notes and files while Fraser's fingers sped across the keyboard and ninety words a minute.

For the Mountie's trouble, Ray took them out to their favorite Chinese restaurant- Li's Panda Hut. The GTO pulled into a parking lot across the street from the popular eatery. The highly buffed black paint job gleamed in the neon lights.

“Thank you kindly for dinner, Ray.” Fraser said as they crossed the street, Ray stepping out without looking and the Mountie looking both ways first.

“Ah, it's no problem, you earned it.” Ray grinned mischievously. The Detective ran his hand through his blond spikes before entering. A watercolor painting of yellow and red dragons scattered over a temple scene stood guard across from the front door. Mirrors and black marble shone with soft lighting as patrons ambled from their seats to the buffet.

“Two?” A young man in black slacks and a red polo shirt greeted them with a smile.

“Yeah, two.” Ray answered simply, looking around the seating area. The young man lead them to a seat along the wall but near the buffet.

After filling their plates and having their drinks delivered, Ray and Ben settled into conversation.

“So, how's the Inspector and the boy?” Ray asked, trying to play nice and not call Thatcher 'the dragon lady'.

“Both are fine, though the Inspector was quite upset this afternoon at the Social Services office.” Ben answered, digging into General Tso's chicken.

“What set her off?” Ray asked, spearing a fried vegetable.

“Ms. Roma, the social worker, was quite harsh with the Inspector, Ms. Roma is going to assess the Inspector's fitness.” Ben watched as Ray stifled a chuckle.

“Shew, I'd love to see Thatcher in a cat fight.” Ray leaned back, shaking his head.

“Why would the Inspector fight with a cat, Ray?” The Mountie's face betrayed his ignorance.

Ray really laughed then. After a moment, he explained the term.

**

Dinner finished and the situation thoroughly discussed, Ray dropped Ben off at the Inspector's apartment building. He revved the rumbling engine while Fraser got out. Once the door closed, Ray squalled the tires, leaving black marks. He couldn't help it, he hadn't thumbed his nose at the upper class in a while.

In the rear view mirror, Ray glimpsed Fraser watching him leave, head shaking. The off-duty detective just grinned wider.

***

Calvin sat on the couch, a sports news caster rattling on as he ate an oatmeal cookie and drank a glass of milk. A knock on the door tore his eyes away from the screen. Inspector Thatcher walked out of the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands.

“Who is it?” She called, hand on the door knob.

“Inspector Thatcher, it's me, Constable Benton Fraser, I came to ….” he didn't get any farther. The door flew open, nearly sucking him inside.

“Constable, come in.” Thatcher invited, moving away from the door.

Calvin watched Fraser watch Thatcher as she walked back to the kitchen. She still wore her business skirt and blouse but had traded heels for soft, fluffy slippers.

“Hey, Coach.” Calvin greeted him once the Mountie pried himself away from Thatcher's rear view. The boy saw such longing in the Mountie's blue eyes.

“Hello, Calvin, how are you?” He asked, moving toward the couch beside the boy.

“I'm okay, just getting ready to go to bed, the Inspector helped me with my homework, we had hamburgers and creamed corn for dinner.” Calvin's eyes lit up. He'd never had home made hamburgers or creamed corn. “She let me pick out the potato chips.”

“That sounds good, I went to dinner with my friend, Ray.” Fraser took a seat in the arm chair in the farthest corner from the door.

“Yeah, I've seen him a time or two at the rink.” Calvin used the television remote to turn the volume down as the sports caster moved on to Golf. A no-contact sport didn't interest him.

“He's helping me search for your grandmother.” Fraser's tone sounded hopeful to Calvin.

“What's gonna happen if she don't want me, Coach?” Calvin asked quietly, hoping the Inspector wouldn't hear.

“I'm not certain, Calvin, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Fraser gave him an encouraging smile.

“Would you like coffee, Constable?” Thatcher interrupted the somber moment.

“Yes, thank you kindly, Inspector.” Fraser looked up, his eyes widening.

Calvin followed Fraser's gaze. Inspector Thatcher stood in the door way to the kitchen, back lit from above, her curves silhouetted against the back wall. For a moment Calvin suspected the Mountie had stopped breathing.

“An oatmeal cookie to go along with it?” She moved from the doorway, stepping into the living room.

“Yes, please.” Fraser answered in a hushed voice.

The Inspector turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“You like her!” Calvin snickered. He watched the Mountie's ears turn dark red.

“Of course I _'like'_ the Inspector, she's an extremely good commanding officer.” Fraser countered, swallowing hard and avoiding Calvin's gaze.

“Yeah, uh huh.” Calvin snickered again, rolling his eyes. He knew the truth, whether Fraser would admit it or not.

“How was Diefenbaker when you left the consulate?” Fraser completely changed the subject.

“He's fine, we left him in the back lot.” Calvin shrugged. “Inspector Thatcher wouldn't let me bring him to her apartment.” the boy frowned.

“That was a wise decision.” Fraser nodded.

“Here's your coffee, Constable.” The Inspector walked in gracefully carrying the coffee on a saucer, two cookies tucked in beside the cup.

“Thank you kindly, Inspector.”

Calvin noticed the way Fraser's gaze lingered on the Inspector as she handed him the saucer. Their fingers brushed at the edge of the saucer.

“You're welcome, Fraser.” Meg's wine colored lips twitched at the edges.

 _“She likes him too.”_ Calvin thought, grinning as he drank the last of his milk.

“It's getting late, Calvin, you haven't brushed your teeth.” Meg reminded him as she took a seat on the couch.

“Okay.” He frowned but stood up, took his empty milk glass to the kitchen and walked toward the hallway. He really wished he could hear as well as the coach so he could eavesdrop.

“Good night, Calvin.” Fraser spoke before he completely disappeared.

“Night, Coach, night, Inspector,” Calvin waved from the entrance to the hallway. He waved then walked away.

***

“These cookies are delicious, did you bake them?” Fraser asked, making conversation. He couldn't bear the silence between them.

“No, Turnbull sent them home with me and Calvin.” Meg smiled, pulling her feet close to the couch, trying to hide her plush, red slippers.

“Did Ray find anything about Calvin's grandmother?” Meg changed the subject to something more important.

“No, not yet, Francesca should have some information tomorrow.” Fraser informed her, falling back into his customary role.

“Good.” Meg nodded, her dark eyes serious.

Fraser longed to see her eyes smile, at him, at anything, just smile.

“I tried to contact Ms. Hogan at her last known address and telephone number without success.” Meg sighed. She'd hoped the consulate's foreign number would work magic.

“Hopefully, we'll find her tomorrow.” Fraser offered hopefully.

“I hate to take Calvin away from Chicago, he has friends here and his hockey team.” Meg laced her fingers and laid them in her lap.

“His brother is buried here.” Fraser added quietly. He couldn't help but think of the small cemetery where his grandparents and parents were buried.

“Yes, he is.” Meg agreed softly.

“It must have been horrible, to see Jimmy commit suicide.” She spoke just above a whisper. It wouldn't do for Calvin to hear their conversation.

“I wasn't able to dissuade him.” Fraser looked up from his boots, his blue eyes turbulent. He saw concern in the Inspector's dark eyes. Concern for him?

“It wasn't your fault, the boy had made his decision.” She frowned as she reached from her seat on the end of the couch to the Mountie's knee.

“I can't help but feel I let Calvin down somehow.” Fraser admitted, looking away as he ran his thumb nail over his eyebrow.

“You didn't let Calvin down, Jimmy let him down, he left him behind.” Meg admonished, her voice sharp.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Fraser looked from her small hand on his knee to her concerned face.

“I know so.” She nodded resolutely.

A few minutes later, Fraser excused himself. The hour had grown late and Diefenbaker waited for him at the consulate.

“I'll be here to take Calvin to school in the morning.” Fraser said as he adjusted his Stetson before leaving.

“Okay, see you then.” Meg stood at the door, ready to close and lock it behind him.

“Good night, Inspector.” The Mountie nodded.

“Good night, Constable.” Meg responded. With a nod, they parted until morning.

***

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Li's Panda Hut is my creation. I've used it in another DS fan fic. I have no clue if Chicago's Canadian Consulate would have a phone number different from Chicago itself. I made it that way for the sake of the story.

 


	11. Breakfast

_**The Next Morning ….** _

Dief trotted along ahead of Fraser, sniffing trees, garbage cans and brick walls. Every once in a while the wolf-dog would stop and wait for his human companion to catch up. Silently, he wondered why Fraser walked so slowly.

After the third stop, Dief sat on his haunches and waited until the Mountie stopped too. His amber eyes looked up at him questioningly.

“Diefenbaker, it's nothing, can't I have an off day on occasion?” Fraser asked aloud. The wolf simply cocked one eyebrow in response.

“You are impossible, I'm not dawdling, I'm on my way to the Inspector's apartment to walk Calvin to school, just as I said I would.”

Diefenbaker snorted and rolled his eyes.

“No, I'm not avoiding the Inspector, I simply don't wish to be early.” Fraser defended himself as Dief turned his back and walked ahead.

“You are impossible.” Fraser huffed as he followed.

***

“Calvin, breakfast is ready.” Meg called, leaning out the kitchen doorway.

“Okay, I'll be out in a minute.” Calvin called back from the bathroom.

The boy came into the kitchen as Meg set a plate of buttered toast on the table along with two glasses of orange juice.

“What's for breakfast?” Calvin asked, watching the Inspector move about the kitchen.

“Oatmeal with peach jam.” Meg answered, pouring herself a cup of breakfast tea.

“What's a peach?” The boy asked, sitting down at the table.

“It's a fruit, it grows on trees like an apple.” Meg stopped in mid-sip. She'd never met anyone who didn't know about peaches.

 _“What else doesn't he know about?”_ She wondered.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, BARK!

“That's Coach.” Calvin said, his voice chipper.

Meg opened the door before Fraser could knock again. It was too early for such a harsh noise.

“Good morning, Inspector, Calvin.” The Mountie greeted them, doffing his hat.

He may have greeted both of them, but his gaze never left Meg. She swallowed hard to keep from sighing dreamily.

“Hey, Coach, you're early.” Calvin's voice broke Fraser's concentration.

“Yes, I am.” He agreed simply, Stetson in hand.

Diefenbaker nosed around the boy and especially his breakfast.

“Have you eaten, Constable, I have extra oatmeal and tea.” Meg offered, pointing toward a sauce pan on the stove.

“Thank you.” Fraser nodded gratefully, taking a seat at one end of the table. A moment later Meg set a bowl of oatmeal and a spoon in front of him. Next came tea.

Meg took the other end of the table, across from Fraser. She busied herself eating, stealing glances at her handsome junior officer. His usually vivid blue eyes lacked their usual luster.

 _“He's had another nightmare.”_ Meg thought to herself. Shouts from days before came back to her. _“I'll have to speak to Dr. Chandler when I get to the consulate.”_ The Inspector in her came out.

Dief whined at Calvin's feet, hoping for a bite of peach jam. Meg watched Fraser have a conversation with the white fur ball. Calvin didn't bat an eyelash. The lady Mountie had witnessed Fraser talking to the wolf before. It struck her as odd each time. The wolf seemed to respond to Fraser on a level she didn't understand.

“Inspector?” Calvin's voice broke into Meg's thoughts.

“Hmm, yes?” She turned to him.

“Do I need to do anything to my homework?” He asked, apparently for the second time.

“Yes, I circled the ones you need to work on in pencil.” Meg answered, standing to take the boy's empty bowl and glass along with her own. Without a word, Meg also took Fraser's empty dishes.

“Thank you kindly, it was wonderful.” Fraser complimented, holding Meg's gaze a long moment.

“You're welcome.” She nodded, a smile flitting across her lips. Sadness filled his features, barely hidden by his Mountie mask. Meg's heart ached for him.

 _“I wish I could come out and ask him. I doubt he'd give me a straight answer, especially with Calvin in the room.”_ Meg thought as she ran the oatmeal bowls and sauce pan full of water.

“I'll see you at the consulate, Inspector, Calvin and I are on our way.” Fraser had stood up, adjusting his Stetson while he waited for Calvin to gather his things.

“See you in a bit, Fraser, be careful. Have a good day at school, Calvin.” Meg strolled out of the kitchen in time to meet the boy at the door, Dief on his heels. She laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“I'll try.” Calvin shrugged noncommittally, his expression unenthused.

Meg ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

“You have my numbers if you need anything.” She reminded him with a soft smile.

“Bye, Inspector.” Calvin wished her, following Dief and Fraser out the door. Both turned halfway down the hall and waved to her. For a minute her apartment had felt more like a home than a place to hang her uniform.

“I have to find Ms. Hogan, for me and for Calvin.” Meg sighed. She was fast becoming attached to the boy. Fraser coming to walk him to school each morning didn't help the situation.

***

 


	12. Graphic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! May be considered gruesome.

_**The Previous Night ….** _

Diefenbaker circled his dog bed three times before settling down and closing his eyes. Ben walked into his home/office dressed in his usual, red long johns. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the aluminum framed cot. After a chapter of _Robinson Crusoe_ , the Mountie turned off his reading lamp and closed his eyes. Dief snored in the corner, paws kicking as he chased something in his dreams. Ben prayed he _wouldn't_ dream. He didn't want to 'wake up screaming', as Ray had phrased it.

Before an hour had passed, Ben fell into a dreaming sleep. He dreamed about puppies and polar bears. His childhood friends in the various villages his grandparents lived drifted through. The Mountie even dreamed that Ray Vecchio was dressed as Santa and flying across the sky in his beloved, emerald green, Buick, Riviera, pulled by caribou.

As the landscape changed from flat tundra to gritty, but empty, cement streets. Ben wandered around for a while, taking in the scene. After a moment, he wandered into the ice rink where Jimmy and Calvin's team played last-where Jimmy had chose to end his life. He he heard the sound of a crowd cheering, but looking around, he didn't see any spectators.

“Constable Fraser.” The Inspector's voice cut through the din.

When Ben turned he saw her sitting with her back against the boards, her dress reds on.

“Hey, Coach.” Calvin's voice came from the opposite direction, behind Fraser.

“Calvin, Inspector, what's going on?” Fraser asked, confused, especially when he saw the handgun in Calvin's hand.

“I'm going to kill Inspector Thatcher just like you killed Jimmy.” Calvin spoke calmly, a smile on his young face.

“What do you mean?” Fraser asked, edging toward the Inspector.  
“Well, you killed Jimmy, you're the reason he's dead.” The boy spoke plainly, no anger in his voice.

“I didn't kill Jimmy, he killed himself.” Ben spoke.

“It's okay, Constable, you've let everyone else die, your mother, your father, even your best friend, Ray Vecchio, tried to kill you, then he took off for undercover work, and the Metcalf woman ran away. Calvin will kill then himself. You'll be all alone.” Inspector Thatcher explained nonchalantly.

“I won't be alone, I have Diefenbaker.” Ben protested, logically.

“No you won't, he's over there.” Inspector Thatcher pointed toward the bleachers. Dief lay on his side on one of them half way up. His with fur dripped blood and he wasn't breathing.

“Diefenbaker!” Fraser called, moving away from the Inspector to his lupine friend. The wolf felt cold to the touch, his nose warm. Ben buried his face in the wolf's fur.

“Come, join us, Coach, you won't be alone.” Calvin held the handgun to the Inspector's head, her rare, lovely smile beaming at him. The boy pulled the trigger before Fraser could move to stop him.

Ben woke up screaming, cold sweat pouring down his face. Breathing hard, the Mountie struggled to identify his surroundings. A wet nose against his dangling hand brought Ben back to the consulate; back to reality. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see blood on them. The scent of blood filled his nostrils and clung to his throat. Trying to wipe the sight and sound away, Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A mistake. He saw the dream all over again, saw an explosion of blood and brain matter splatter against the pristine, white board behind Meg's head. She slumped backward soundlessly.

“I've got to get up, got to get away.” Ben mumbled, throwing off his light blanket. Dief came nuzzling up to him, asking what was wrong.

“Let's go for a walk, Dief.” Ben pulled his jeans and boots on then a flannels shirt on over his long johns. The wolf followed him, partially to go out and partially to keep an eye on his human.

Ben and Diefenbaker walked around the block, ambling in the semi-darkness of the neon lit city. Most of the foot traffic out at that hour were up to no good. Soiled doves of the night and people lost in their own problems shuffled around the Mountie. He couldn't stand to see their pain.

After a few blocks, Ben found an old movie theater hosting a Three Stooges marathon. The ticket seller raised a pierced eyebrow at Dief. Ben paid for a second ticket. The ticket taker shrugged and slid two tickets beneath the plexiglass window. Ben thanked her kindly and he and Dief stepped into the antiquated building. They let Curly, Larry and Moe's shenanigans distract them.

***

 


	13. Why Aren't They Happier?

_**At the Consulate ….** _

After sending Calvin off to school with Fraser, Meg drove on to work. Turnbull greeted her with a jaunty smile. For a moment, Meg wondered how he managed to be so upbeat all the time. It occurred to her that she didn't really know that much about her junior officer.

“Do you have the research I asked for, Constable?” Meg asked as she sorted out her briefcase.

“Yes, Sir, I laid it in your in-box.” Turnbull tapped the thick file.

“Good, thank you. If anyone calls, take a message, unless it's from Ottawa.” Meg took her place behind the desk and began on the file. She had to educate herself, to be prepared for Callestina Roma and her inspection.

A familiar tap on the door interrupted the Inspector fifteen pages later.

“Come in, Constable Fraser.” Meg beckoned him, stowing her prescription eye glasses in the top drawer.

“I dropped Calvin off at school safely. He asked me to tell you to have a good day.” Fraser smiled fondly. Meg couldn't help but mimic his smile for a moment. She pulled a file out of her briefcase. A slip of paper fell out, onto her desk.

_Inspector Thatcher, I just wanted to say thank you kindly for taking care of me. It's been great staying with you. You're apartment is neat and so clean! I'd like to stay with you and Coach forever._

_P.S. You're a good cook._

_Thanks again, Calvin_

 

Meg read the letter aloud. Her heart swelled with gratitude. When she looked up, Fraser had a lopsided smile on his face, and perhaps his blue eyes were misty, just a bit?

“He's a sweet kid.” Meg said softly, handing the letter to Fraser.

“Yes, he is.” The Mountie agreed.

Dief, who'd walked in on Fraser's heels, yipped in agreement.

_“We're almost like a family.”_ Meg thought to herself. 

Meg cleared her throat, becoming more serious.

“I've asked Turnbull to research the Illinois State Social Service guidelines, in preparation for Ms. Roma's inspection.” Meg handed Fraser the fifteen pages she'd already read. What had taken her more than ten minutes to read took Fraser only a minute to speed read.

_“Thanks to his librarian grandparents I'm sure.”_ Meg thought sarcastically. 

“I don't anticipate a problem, you have a stable environment for a child and Calvin is far from an infant.” Fraser pointed out logically.

Meg scowled at him silently.

“Yes, well, that isn't what I'm concerned about.” She responded dryly. Fraser looked appropriately contrite before she changed the subject.

“When is your next appointment with Dr. Chandler?” The Inspector hated to bring up such a detestable subject, but felt it necessary. She needed her top officer back on duty. She needed Fraser to be okay.

“Monday, ten o'clock.” Fraser answered as if simply telling her the time of day.

“Good.” Meg hesitated. She wanted to ask him if the sessions had done any good, but didn't want to pry. Fraser looked better than he had at breakfast. As an officer, she needed him to pull his weight. Her worry went farther than RCMP guidelines though.

_“Perhaps working on this inspection will be a good distraction for him.”_ Meg thought. 

“I want an analysis report on this research.” She handed Fraser the file, dismissing him.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser nodded and left.

Meg read Calvin's note one more time. He'd misspelled apartment, putting in two P's. She felt lucky to have the boy in her life, even if it was only temporary.

“I've got to find Ms. Hogan.” Meg shook her head and tried the last known number one more time.

***

Fraser walked to his office, Dief languishing in the hallway. The Mountie heard his extension ring for the first time as he neared the door. He snatched it up before the second ring.

“Hey, Fraser, I got a hit on Calvin's grandma.” Ray spoke halfway through the customary greeting.

“That's wonderful, Ray.” Ben listened as his detective friend gave him a rundown on the older lady's whereabouts.

“Here, in Illinois?” Fraser asked, surprised.

“Yeah, you owe Stella's friend Sandy at the Post Office a gift 'er somethin'.” Ray chuckled mischievously.

“Give her my thanks and I'll make certain to send a thank you note myself.” They talked for a few more minutes before hanging up.

“The Inspector will be pleased.” Fraser stopped in his tracks. He remembered the soft look on her face while reading Calvin's note. Would she be pleased, he wondered. Still, he had to tell her the new development.

***

“Here, in Illinois?” The Inspector asked in surprise.

“Yes, apparently. Stella Kowalski's contact at the IRS gave this address.” Fraser pointed to the Post-It note on her desk.

“Hmm, that was quicker than I anticipated.” Meg muttered mostly to herself, frowning.

“Yes, it was.” Fraser agreed solemnly.

“Well, there's no time like the present, I'll call Ms. Hogan.” Meg stretched out her hand to pick up the phone, then hesitated.

“Shall I, Inspector?” Fraser offered.

“What?” Meg looked up at him, “No, I should.” She yanked up the handset and began punching buttons.

Fraser quickly stabbed at the phone, disconnecting her before she'd connected.

“Perhaps we should tell Calvin before we contact his grandmother.” It was a delaying tactic, Meg knew, but she agreed.

***

“Calvin Hellman, please report to the office.” The school secretary's voice came over the intercom a minute before the final bell rang. Calvin shot out the door as soon as possible, not even stopping to get his books or backpack. The Inspector and Fraser stood in the outer office with long, grim faces.

“What's up, Coach, Inspector?” Calvin asked, a little fear in his voice.

“We have some news to discuss with you. We thought you should hear it from us.” Inspector Thatcher took a seat in one of the pleather covered seats just beyond the secretary's desk. Fraser remained standing, Stetson in hand.

“Is Mom okay? Sometimes she comes home messed up.” Calvin looked from the Inspector's dark, worried eyes to Fraser, staring at his high browns.

“It's about your grandmother, she's living here, in Illinois. Detective Vecchio gave me her address and phone number this morning.” Fraser explained.

“Are you sure it's _my_ grandmother?” Calvin asked, skeptical.

“We haven't called yet, we thought you should know first.” Meg looked to Fraser for support.

“Would you like to talk to her if it is your grandmother?” Fraser asked, taking a seat on the other side of the boy.

“Yeah, I need to tell her about Jimmy.” Calvin frowned, wishing he had better news for her.

“The Inspector and I will be there with you.” Fraser assured him, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Thanks, Coach, Inspector.” Calvin looked from one adult to the other. They were about to send him to his grandmother's, why weren't they happier?

***

 


	14. Finding Granny

_**Back at the Consulate ….** _

With a heavy heart, Meg dialed Ms. Hogan's phone number. Looking up, she saw her sadness reflected in Fraser's blue eyes.

Meg snapped to attention when a woman answered on the third ring. “Hello, is this Ms. Patience Hogan?”

“Yes, who is this?” Ms. Hogan asked cautiously.

“I'm Inspector Meg Thatcher, is Calvin Hellman your grandson?” Meg held her breath as she waited for the answer. She looked up into two pairs of expectant eyes. Dief's tail thumped on the carpet, matching the fast rhythm of Meg's pulse.

“Yes, what's this about?”

“I'm going to put you on speaker, Ma'am.” Meg tapped a button and laid down the handset. She motioned for Calvin to step closer and speak to his grandmother.

“Hi, Granny, it's me, Calvin.” The boy sounded young and afraid.

“Calvin, what's going on, where are you?” Ms. Hogan asked, skeptically.

“Granny, Jimmy,” Calvin paused, tearing up, “Jimmy killed himself a few days ago, I'm staying with my hockey coach's boss, Inspector Thatcher.” The boy wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Dead? But why?” Ms. Hogan sounded as if the wind had been taken out of her sails.

“I don't know, Granny, he just did it.” Calvin shrugged. Fraser stroked the boy's hair reassuringly.

“What happened to your mother?” The older lady's voice sounded strained, as if on the verge of crying.

Calvin looked from the Inspector to Fraser for answers before answering.

“It's okay, Son, just be honest.” Fraser urged.

Meg watched him carefully. He would be a good father, given the chance.

“Mom's the same as always.” The boy sighed wearily.

“I see.” Ms. Hogan spoke as if to herself. Everyone heard a faint sniff in the background.

“Ms. Hogan, would it be possible for you to care for Calvin?” Inspector Thatcher asked, taking the bull by the horns.

“I can't come to Chicago right now, I'm serving on a grand jury.” Ms. Hogan sounded torn.

“That's okay, Granny, my social worker's coming in a day or two, she'll know what to do.” Calvin volunteered, his voice barely avoiding cracking.

“Now, Calvin, I didn't say I didn't _want_ to come, I said I _can't_.” The older woman chided her grandson.

“Sorry.” Calvin muttered.

“Perhaps the Inspector and myself could bring Calvin to you.” Fraser offered, only to receive an almost imperceptible glare from the Inspector.

“Could you? That would be so wonderful.” Ms. Hogan breathed a sigh of relief.

“I'll contact the social worker and make arrangements.” Inspector Thatcher cut in before Fraser could say anything.

“Okay, thanks.”

Meg looked up to Fraser who seemed preoccupied, staring at his boots.

“Ms. Hogan, would you like to speak to Calvin in private?” Meg offered.

“Yes, thank you.”

Meg stood up and motioned for Fraser and Dief to step into the hallway with her. Fraser held the door open, allowing first Dief, who darted through, and then the Inspector, to walk through. She headed toward Fraser's home/office.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.” Meg commented dryly. She hated having to contact Callestina Roma but she especially detested having Calvin leave her.

“Yes, it is.” Fraser agreed, running his tongue across his lower lip, seemingly distracted by his own thoughts.

“I wish he didn't have to go.” Meg muttered under her breath.

“I as well.” Fraser agreed again.

Meg turned to stare at him in disbelief. She knew Fraser was fond of Calvin, but it still caught her off guard.

“Still, family is best, especially in a time like this.” Fraser straightened up, back to reality.

Meg caught a hint of old grief in his blue eyes. She knew from his personnel file that he'd grown up with his grandparents after his mother's death. He spoke from first hand experience.

“Why don't you and Calvin go out for a while, I want to talk to Ms. Roma without being overheard.” Meg stated conspiratorially.

“There's a _Three Stooges_ marathon playing, perhaps he'd like that.” Fraser suggested.

Meg blinked then shook her head. She'd never understood men and their love of _The Three Stooges._

“Dinner and the movies, that should be fine.” Meg nodded, hands on her hips as she stood before Fraser's desk. She wished she could go with them. Dief barked, breaking the silence.

“Hey, Coach, hey, Inspector.” Calvin stood in the door way, a frown on his face.

Meg ushered the boy into the office, worry creasing her brow. Without thinking, she raked her fingers through the boy's thick hair, pushing it away from his face.

“You and Fraser,” Dief whined in the corner, “ _and Diefenbaker_ , will be going to dinner and the movies.”

“You ain't going?” Calvin looked up at her, worried.

“I'll be right here at the consulate, I have some work left to do. Fraser will bring you back.” Meg assured him with a smile.

“Right, Fraser?” She said in a sharp, Inspector-ish tone.

“Yes, Sir.” Meg watched as Fraser stood up straighter.

“Okay, but I wish you were coming.” Calvin muttered, the closest to whining Meg had heard out of him.

“I'd be glad to go to the movies and dinner with you, but I'll have to have a rain check.” Meg put her arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him into a gentle side-hug.

“What's a rain check?” Calvin asked, puzzled.

“It means I promise I will go to the movies with you, just not today, okay?” Meg explained with an affectionate smile.

“Okay, but I'm holding you to it.” He wagged a finger under Meg's nose, drawing a chuckle from her.

***

_**The Three Stooges ….** _

Fraser treated himself and Calvin to dinner at a popular, moderately priced buffet restaurant. Dief sat outside, pouting, offended by the 'no pets' sign.

“Thanks for supper, Coach, the only place Mom ever took us was McDonald's once.” The boy tried to feign a smile but couldn't.

“It's my pleasure, Calvin. In the Northwest Territories there aren't very many restaurants. There are perhaps one every few thousand kilometers.” Fraser rattled on about the varying menus but a few moments later saw Calvin wasn't listening. They sat across from each other in the busy dining area.

“What's on your mind, Calvin?” Benton asked, pausing between bites of brussel sprouts.

“I love Granny, but, well,” he looked at Fraser dolefully, “well, I don't want to go live with her, I don't really know her.” The boy pushed his pulled pork around on his plate.

“Getting to know someone takes time, Dief and I have been together for years and we're still find out about each other.” Fraser volunteered hopefully.

“Why can't I stay with you and the Inspector, I've gotten to know you.” Calvin asked, slumping in his chair.

“After my mother's death, well, I was much younger than you, but my grandparents needed me as much as I needed them. It could never replace my mother, but it did help to spend time together.” Fraser's words seemed to sink in.

“Why can't you and the Inspector adopt me?” Calvin brightened at the thought.

Fraser blushed. “Adopting a child is a very important decision, a great responsibility, it's best undertaken by a devoted couple.” The Mountie tried to explain.

“You could marry the Inspector!” Calvin suggested, leaning forward excitedly.

Fraser almost choked on a drink of water, his face turning crimson. Marry the Inspector, the thought seemed more like a practical joke just to see his reaction.

“The Inspector and I, we aren't …. she and I aren't …. there's no chance of ….” Fraser sputtered, trying to catch his breath. Calvin had rounded the table and began pounding on his back.

“I see how the two of you look at each other when you think the other ain't looking.” Calvin flopped down in his seat.

“Staying with your grandmother is what's best for you, Calvin. She's lucky to have you for a grandson.” Fraser told him straight.

“I know, but what will happen to my mom?” The boy tried again.

“Your mother needs to seek help, not only for you but for herself as well.” Fraser may have had issues with his father but he could always count on Bob Fraser to be sober-thankfully.

“We'll make sure your mother knows where you are, in case she wants to contact you.” Benton assured the boy.

“Okay, but I still wish you'd marry the Inspector, you'd have real smart kids.” Calvin deviled him with a lopsided smile.

Fraser gave the boy a gently reproaching glare. “You should finish your dinner, we've yet to go to the theater.”

“Okay, Coach.” the boy snickered.

***

 


	15. Three Hour Tour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! I've been down for a month or so after having eye surgery.

_**Inspector Thatcher's Office ….** _

Meg took a deep breath before dialing Callestina Roma's office number and extension. She didn't really want to make the call.

“Hello, Callestina Roma speaking, how may I help you?” The woman answered, sounding distracted.

“This is Inspector Thatcher, I found Calvin Hellman's grandmother, Ms. Patience Hogan.” Meg didn't bother with niceties, digging into business.

“Inspector, hello, that was quick. Where is Ms. Hogan?” Callestina met her tone in kind.

“She's living here, in Illinois.” Meg gave her the address and phone number to check, if she chose.

“I've contacted Ms. Hogan and arranged for myself and Constable Fraser to take Calvin for a visit this weekend.” Meg informed her, not asking for permission.

“I still have to do my fitness assessment. I'll be over sometime tomorrow.” A few moments later they'd made an appointment before hanging up.

“Shew, that's out of the way now.” Meg grumbled under her breath. “I just hope she doesn't horn in on the trip.” The idea of a relaxing drive in the country with Calvin and Fraser made her smile. Meg couldn't think of a better way to spend a glorious, fall weekend.

“I have to get my apartment ready for Ms. Roma's inspection. Perhaps Fraser and Calvin would help.” That thought made Meg smile too. She could get used to doing things together, like a family.

***

_**Friday ….** _

Callestina Roma knocked on Meg's apartment door at six pm Friday evening. Meg answered on the second knock, a bibbed apron over her blouse and skirt, and an egg turner in hand.

“Ms. Roma, good evening.” Meg stepped aside to let her inside.

“I hope now isn't too inconvenient.” Ms. Roma looked around the living room critically. Calvin sat on the couch, notebook on his lap and a textbook on the arm of the sofa. Classical music played softly in the background.

“Hi,” Calvin greeted Ms. Roma before going back to his homework.

“Hey, Calvin, how are you?” Ms. Roma walked in, looking around the cozy area.

“I'm fine, but I hate Math.” he grumbled. “Have you heard from Mom?” he pushed his notebook into his textbook before closing it.

“Yes, I have, she's agreed to sign over her parental rights to your grandmother, if she agrees.” Ms. Roma answered, taking a seat beside Calvin.

“What happens if Granny doesn't?” Calvin shifted in his seat, looking at Ms. Roma warily.

“Let's ask your grandmother before we start worrying, okay?” Ms. Roma gave him a reassuring smile.

“Where's Constable Fraser?” The social worker changed the subject abruptly.

“Coach, oh, he's at the consulate.” Calvin answered.

“I assumed you two were a couple.” Roma commented, a devilish glint in her eye.

“What?!” Meg exclaimed loudly from the kitchen.

“You mean you and Constable Fraser aren't, um, aren't …..” Callestina gestured vaguely as Meg stepped toward the living room.

“Hell no!” Meg declared before she thought.

“Oh, my apologies.” Callestina purred in faux contrition.

Calvin coughed, trying to strangle a laugh. He never got enough of the Mounties' embarrassed reactions.

“Ms. Roma, would you like to stay for dinner?” Meg asked, grudgingly. Ms. Roma was doing her job, Meg knew, but she still didn't have to like her.

“Yes, thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?” Ms. Roma asked.

“No, thank you.” Meg faked a smile as she set a chicken casserole on the small kitchen table along side salad and home cooked green beans.

“Calvin, will you go wash your hands, please?” Meg called from the kitchen, peering around the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

When the boy returned he helped Meg set another place for dinner and filled the water glasses with ice.

“Please, don't let me interfere, go on about your routine.” Ms. Roma said after sitting down to eat.

To say the silence was awkward would be an understatement. Roma and Meg eyed each other while Calvin tried to be on his best behavior but act naturally at the same time. They ate chicken casserole, green beans, mashed potatoes, salad and fresh rolls from the corner bakery. Calvin made a face but ate his chicken anyway. Meg rewarded him with an appreciative smile.

“Do you want to wash or dry?” Meg asked Calvin as they cleared the table.

“I'll wash.” Calvin answered, pushing his long-ish hair away from his face.

Meg reminded herself to take him for a haircut the next morning.

“Coffee will be ready in a minute, Ms. Roma.” Meg's mind switched gears, she had a guest.

“Thank you.” Roma took a seat on the couch, looking over Calvin's homework while she waited.

“Is she going to be here much longer?” Calvin whispered as he washed spoons.

“I hope not.” Meg answered as she found a towel in the cabinet beside him. They both laughed.

Laughter didn't peel out in Meg's apartment every day, not until Calvin. It did her heart good.

“What does Coach do after work, besides hockey?” Calvin brought Meg out of her happy thoughts.

“He and Detective Vecchio get into far too much trouble to suit me.” She had read too many incident reports on Fraser's stunts to call them anything but trouble.

“You worry about him, don't you.”

Meg turned to look at the boy standing beside her. He wasn't teasing; wasn't poking fun at them.

“Yes, Constable Fraser thinks he can make a difference, he pushes limits sometimes.” Meg turned back to drying flatware.

“If it weren't for Coach, ….”

Meg put her arm around Calvin's shoulders, reassuring both of them.

“Come on, let's get this over with.” Meg pulled away, getting back to reality. She didn't want the boy to leave.

_**Saturday Morning ….** _

At ten o'clock Meg met Fraser and Callestina at the consulate to begin the long drive to Ms. Hogan's home. Meg and Calvin had just walked out of the barber shop in time to meet the others. He looked much more presentable with a trim. 

Callestina walked up the front stoop to the consulate, a large, to-go coffee in hand. Diefenbaker and Fraser met her at the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Roma, how are you?” the Mountie asked cheerfully.

“I'm fine, thanks. You're looking chipper this morning.” Callestina admired him from his rugged leather work boots, up his Wranglers to his blue, long sleeve, flannel shirt. It brought out the crystalline quality of his blue eyes.

“Thank you kindly. The Inspector should be here any moment. I've taken the liberty of packing a cooler for lunch.” Fraser stepped behind Dief, putting the wolf between him and the lusty glint in Callestina's eye.

TOOT, TOOT! Came from the corner, alerting the three on the stoop to Meg and Calvin's arrival.

“Hello,” Fraser nudged Dief with his foot to go down the steps.

“Constable, Ms. Roma.” Meg spoke, eyes narrowing at the pair.

“Inspector Thatcher,” Callestina nodded politely, tossing her coppery locks over one shoulder, gold hoops bobbing amongst her curls.

“Calvin, do you need to get a drink or anything?” Meg turned to the boy watching the whole scene.

“Yeah, I better before we go.” Calvin headed into the consulate, Dief on his heels. Meg and Fraser followed suit.

Back outside, Fraser had opened the driver's door, the rear doors, and the front passenger door. When he stepped back to the driver's door, Meg had slid inside and adjusted the seat to suit herself.

“You're driving, Sir,”

Meg wasn't certain if it was a question or a statement.

“Yes, Fraser, I am. I've ridden with you. Three hours with you at the wheel is out of the question. You can navigate.” she handed him a paper map of Illinois.

“Ah, yes,” he took it and opened it, up-side-down.

In the back seat, Calvin quietly snickered, until Meg pinned him with a silencing stare in the rear view mirror.

“Are you buckled up, Calvin, Ms. Roma?” Fraser turned to ask.

“Yeah, Coach, I'm buckled.” the boy gave him a thumbs up and a grin.

“Why can't Fraser drive, Inspector Thatcher?” Callestina challenged.

The first thing that crossed Meg's mind was, _“Because I said so.”_ Instead, she answered, “Constable Fraser is more adept at navigating and I'm more practiced at city and highway driving.”

“I have been practicing, Sir.” Fraser offered hopefully.

Meg turned to him, lips pursed, brows raised.

“Ian MacDonald.” she spoke flatly.

“Ah, yes, understood.” Fraser turned back to the map.

“Who is Ian MacDonald?” Callestina asked, just to be spiteful.

***

 


	16. Choices

_**Three Hours Later ….** _

“Thankfully, the military didn't choose to proffer charges against Ray, Ian or myself.” Fraser explained, after having talked tirelessly for three hours straight. Calvin lay against the door, sleeping soundly. Callestina had slumped down, cursing herself for asking. She wondered at the Mountie's sanity, believing a man who swore his fiancée, an acquaintance of mere hours, had been carted away by aliens. 

“What is Ms. Hogan's address again, Constable?” Meg asked, her irritation barely hidden.

“801 Alderson Street,” Fraser answered, consulting a Post-It at the top of the map.

“My mobile is in the glove compartment, call Ms. Hogan and ask for further directions.” Meg eased off the highway exit ramp and onto residential streets.

Fraser hesitated, “Perhaps it would be cheaper if you found a pay telephone, Sir.” he suggested.

“Fraser,” Meg growled, filling the simple word with meaning.

“Dialing, Sir,” his fingers flew over the key pad. A few minutes later Fraser had written down a set of thorough directions.

***

Fifteen minutes and two right hand turns later, Meg pulled the car into a sloping, cement drive outside an older but well cared for house. An older woman stood on the porch, a breeze whipping the hem of her blouse around her lean frame.

“Ms. Hogan?” Meg asked as she slid out of the car.

“Yes, I'm Patience Hogan, you must be Inspector Thatcher.” Ms, Hogan spoke with a wizened voice. Her light eyes matched those of her grandson perfectly.

“Calvin?” the older woman threw her arms out, beckoning the boy to her.

Calvin nervously stepped from behind Fraser and into his grandmother's arms.

“I'm so glad to see you.”

“Grandma, this is my hockey coach, Constable Fraser, my social worker, Ms. Roma and Coach's boss, Inspector Thatcher.” Calvin introduced them when Ms. Hogan finally released him.

“Come in, have a seat, there's a lot to talk about.” Ms. Hogan held the door open for Meg and Callestina then allowed Fraser to hold the door open for her and Calvin. All five of them crowded into the small living room of Ms. Hogan's row house. A gas heating stove set in what had once been a fireplace. On the mantle set pictures of Ms. Hogan her daughter and the boys as toddlers. Jimmy held Calvin's hand as they both looked up at the camera, both of them cotton blond and typically adorable.

“It isn't a fancy place but it's cozy and the mortgage is finally paid off.” Ms. Hogan fretted with a lace doillie on the outdated coffee table as Meg, Callestina and Fraser took a seat on the yellow-green sofa. Ms. Hogan fetched a kitchen chair for Calvin while she sat in a sheet covered recliner near the fireplace.

“Ms. Hogan, would you be willing to take custody of Calvin, his mother isn't in fit shape to take care of him.” Callestina spoke bluntly.

“What's wrong this time?” Ms. Hogan asked, pushing a strand of graying hair beind her ear. That her daughter may be in trouble didn't seem to surprise her.

“Perhaps Calvin and I should step out,” Fraser suggested.

“It's okay, Coach, I know what Mom's done.” Calvin shook his head.

“She's been arrested for prostitution and Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser were eye witnesses to physical abuse of Calvin, among other things.” Callestina answered carefully, avoiding Calvin's gaze.

“I see,” Ms. Hogan sighed heavily, staring out the window to her right.

“I'll see to it Calvin is taken care of the best I can, though I don't know if I'm the right one for the job, I didn't do such a good job with Charlene.”

“Grandma, if I don't live with you, where will I go, back to a foster home?” Calvin's came out thin and high. His green eyes widened as his face paled.

“Back to a foster home? You mean you've been in one before?” Ms. Hogan leaned forward, looking from Calvin to Callestina Roma.

“We weren't able to contact you, Ms. Hogan, when Charlene Hellman was arrested the boys had to be taken in regardless.” Callestina answered, her posture and tone defensive.

“Mom told us you lived in Indiana.” Calvin explained with a shrug.

“I went to visit my sister in Indiana while she had her hip replacement surgery, I never moved there.” Ms. Hogan pounded her fist against the wooden arm of her recliner, her face drawn with anger.

“Are you willing to take full custody of Calvin, Ms. Hogan?” Callestina reiterated her question.

“Yes, of course.” Ms. Hogan snapped. She hung her head a moment before apologizing to the social worker.

“Alright, I'll start the process on Monday. Do you have any questions?” Callestina asked, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Do you want to stay with your grandmother, Calvin?” Fraser spoke for the first time. No one had thought to ask him who he wanted to live with after his mother's death. After a while, he came to understand that his father had made what he felt was the best decision at the time.

Calvin leaned forward, his eyes wide as everyone stared at him for an answer. Fraser watched the boy as he struggled. Should he stay with his grandmother, a woman he barely knew, or stay in Chicago, bouncing from foster home to foster home. In Chicago may see his mother from time to time.

“I don't know, can I think about it, Coach?” Calvin finally answered.

“I'll need to know by Sunday evening.” Callestina interrupted, her voice soft and understanding.

“Okay.” Calvin nodded, frowning.

The Canadians and Callestina Roma stood up to leave, filing through the front door single file. Calvin and Ms. Hogan lingered on the front porch. Fraser watched them thoughtfully as he stood at the driver's side door.

“What are they saying, Fraser?” Meg asked quietly, studying him as he studied Calvin and Ms. Hogan.

“I shouldn't say, it's a private conversation.” Fraser answered, staring down at his boots.

“Fraser,” Meg persisted, her voice sharp and her stare urging.

“She told Calvin he's always welcome at her house and that she loved him.” Fraser answered reluctantly.

“Do you think he'll choose to stay with his grandmother?” Meg asked, her voice softening.

“I don't know, Inspector, it's hard to say.” the Mountie answered honestly.

“I'm ready, Coach, Inspector,” Calvin jogged up to the car and the three adults waiting for him. Ms. Hogan waved from the bottom porch step. Calvin waved back.

“Let's go home, shall we?” Callestina said cheerfully as she slid into the back seat.

****

 


	17. A Third Option

Canadian Consulate, Chicago ….   
Everyone bailed out of Meg's car as soon as she put it in park. Fraser's stories were interesting but no one wanted to hear about an autopsy, in minute, gory detail. Apparently, the Mountie had sniffed or tasted just about everything.   
“Thank you for letting me tag along, Inspector Thatcher.” Callestina Roma spoke as she opened her own door, almost knocking the wind out of Fraser.  
“Yes, you're welcome.” Meg answered, unenthusiastically, one brow lifted.   
The adults rounded the car, Fraser in the lead. Meg pulled her keys out while Callestina walked up the street toward her car. She turned and gave a flirty wave for Fraser's benefit. The Mountie simply nodded and held the consulate's door open for Meg and Calvin.   
“What would you like for dinner, Calvin?” Meg asked, hanging her purse on the coat tree near Turnbull's desk.   
“I'm not hungry, thanks.” He shrugged, not smiling.   
“Okay, well, let me know when you are.” Meg offered, sharing a meaningful look with Fraser.   
The boy shuffled off to Fraser's home/office, out of sight.  
“He's taking this hard.” the Inspector spoke low as she stood beside Fraser in the hallway.   
“Yes, he is. I'm not certain if one of us should talk to him or give him space.” Fraser sighed, his brow knit.   
“I wish I knew.” Meg agreed, arms crossed.   
***   
Diefenbaker met Calvin at Fraser's office door. The wolf wagged his tail happily and waited for the boy to begin scratching his favorite spots. Calvin sat down on the hardwood floor beside Dief, hugging the wolf's neck.   
“I don't know what to do, Dief, and only twenty-four days to figure it out.” he sighed heavily as he leaned on the warm, furry body. The wolf made a huff sound as if in sympathy.   
“I wanna stay with Grandma but what about Mom, who'll take care of her?” The question had been weighing on his mind since leaving her in their apartment. “I wish Jimmy were here.” A tear slid down the boy's round cheek.   
“Calvin,” Fraser stopped short when he saw the boy and Dief together. “I'm sorry, I can come back in a few minutes.”  
“No, Coach, it's okay.” Calvin wiped his face with the back of his hand and sat up straight.   
“The Inspector is ready to leave, she sent me to fetch you.” Fraser turned his Stetson around and around in his hands as he stood looking down on his friend and his wolf.  
“I'm ready too.” Calvin stood up slowly, looking as if he carried the weight of the world.   
Monday Morning ….  
A woman with a wan complexion and sad, dark eyes sat in the waiting area beyond the receptionist's desk when Fraser stepped inside. Dief had reluctantly stayed outside, in the shade of a garbage can.   
“Good morning, Constable Fraser, one of Dr. Chandler's sessions ran long so it'll be a few minutes.” The receptionist apologized as he sighed in.   
“Thank you kindly.” He tipped his Stetson before removing it. He'd hoped to get this session over with quickly. The sooner Dr. Chandler released him, the sooner he could return to duty. Perhaps then the inspector and Turnbull would stop looking at him so sympathetically.   
Fraser shook off his thoughts, found a National Geographic Magazine and began scanning an article about squirrels in New York City's Central Park. He wondered if the receptionist would make a copy of the article for him to give to Turnbull. That thought led him back to Calvin and the boy's predicament. Had Calvin ever gone hunting with his father? Did he know who his father at all?   
“Constable Fraser,” The receptionist called.   
Fraser laid the magazine aside and followed her to Dr. Chandler's office.   
“Good morning, Constable.” Dr. Chandler shook his hand at the door. He wore his shirt sleeves rolled up and his cadet blue, silk tie had been loosened.   
“How have you been since our last appointment?” Chandler asked as he rounded the desk.   
“I've been well, thank you.” Fraser took a seat, his Stetson between his hands.  
“And the boy?” The doctor asked, shifting through his paperwork for Fraser's file.   
“Calvin, yes, Inspector Thatcher and I, along with his social worker, Ms. Roma, drove him to meet his grandmother on Saturday.” Fraser answered.  
“But how is he?” Chandler persisted, studying the Mountie across the desk from him.   
“I believe Calvin is doing better, but he's torn between staying in Chicago near his mother and living with his grandmother in rural Illinois.” Fraser fingered the buckle along the side of his Stetson.   
“Which do you believe is best for the boy?” Chandler surreptitiously made notes as Fraser studied his hat brim.  
“I'm afraid I'm torn as well, in Chicago he would be placed in a foster home but with his grandmother there would be stability and she is his family. I'm not certain what Calvin wants though.” Fraser sighed, thinking back to his own childhood. Could he have made such a serious decision when he was Calvin's age? At six, the decision had been made for him.   
“I see what you mean.” Chandler conceded. For a moment he worried his bottom lip, thinking intently. Fraser looked to him across the desk, studying him for a change.   
“Has Calvin's situation brought back any feelings about your own parents, your mother specifically?” The psychiatrist laid his notepad and pen down to give Fraser his full attention.   
“Yes, it has. I was younger than Calvin but my life changed almost as drastically. I can see things from his perspective as well as from Ms. Roma's vantage point.” Ben trailed his thumbnail over his left eyebrow as he stared at the wall behind Dr. Chandler. He didn't see the framed degrees from prestigious colleges or the textured wallpaper.   
“I'd like to try something, without stopping to think, answer the question.” Dr. Chandler caught the Mountie's gaze.  
“Okay,” Fraser answered, back to reality.  
“Should Calvin go to his grandmother's or a foster home?”  
“Neither,” Fraser answered automatically.  
Chandler raised one thick brow, surprised by the answer. “That's a new one. What makes you say that? Is there a third option?”   
Fraser began to squirm. He hadn't meant to start this conversation, hadn't meant to delve into his personal feelings about Calvin.   
“I meant that perhaps Calvin could be adopted by a family.” Ben swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.   
“That's unlikely for a teenager. Perhaps you meant you could adopt him?” Chandler suggested carefully.   
“Me, adopt? I have a responsibility to the RCMP, I don't have the proper kind of home for a boy, I'm unmarried.” Ben ticked off the first three things that would count against him. The very thought of adopting Calvin made the Mountie sweat. He could barely take care of himself and Diefenbaker.   
“Other law enforcement officers have children, and as for a proper home, you could get an apartment, social services has a more progressive attitude toward single fathers these days, it isn't impossible.” Chandler leaned forward, smoothing his tie.   
“A child needs a mother.” Fraser defended his position.  
“You're still a young man.” The doctor shrugged, “At least think about it.”   
“I will, thank you, Dr. Chandler.” Fraser stood up, eager to be on his feet again.   
“Any more nightmares?” The doctor stood to see him to the door.  
“No, none at all.” Fraser stopped, one hand on the doorknob.  
“I'll sign the release, dependent on continuing our sessions for the time being.” Chandler walked with Fraser out to the receptionist's desk.  
“Thank you kindly, Dr. Chandler, Inspector Thatcher will be pleased to hear it.”   
Dr. Chandler promised to send the paperwork to the Inspector later that day and told the receptionist to make the Constable a return appointment.   
“Me, adopt a child?” Fraser asked himself as he walked toward the consulate. He'd helped the Inspector fill out paperwork to adopt and knew the extensive screening process. Still, Calvin wasn't an infant, and he seemed to want to stay in Chicago, with his school and hockey team. Fraser mulled it all over as he walked.  
The Consulate ….. Lunch time …..  
Meg heard the front door of the consulate open and close before the familiar footfalls of her junior officer, Constable Fraser. She tossed her reading glasses into the drawer and stood to meet him in the hallway.  
“Constable Fraser, a moment, please.” She called before he could walk out of ear shot.   
“I'll be along in a minute, Diefenbaker.” Fraser informed his furry friend. The wolf sighed, walking off with his tail drooping.  
“I am not ignoring you, the Inspector has requested my presence.” The wolf ignored the Mountie and walked into the kitchen.   
“Ingrate.” Fraser muttered, shaking his head.  
The Inspector leaned on the edge of her desk when Fraser stepped inside. Arms crossed over a sunrise pink blouse and a gray pencil skirt sent the Mountie's thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory. He left the door open behind him, just in case.   
“I received a fax from Dr. Chandler's office a few minutes ago, he's cleared you for duty.” she paused, “I'm glad of that, what with our Thanksgiving Day coming up in October and the busy holiday season starting soon.”  
Fraser felt a twinge of regret at being back on duty. Dry cleaning linen table cloths and steaming the drapes weren't his idea of duty.   
“What I actually called you in about is Calvin, I'm expecting Ms. Roma at my apartment this evening at seven, I'd like you there as well, if it's convenient.” She looked at him hopefully.   
“Yes, it's convenient, would you like me to bring anything for dinner?” Fraser wanted to help Calvin as much as possible but the thought of having dinner with the boy and Meg again made him nervous.   
“It's just dinner, he's a ninth grader, I AM a Mountie.” Fraser told himself silently.   
“No, but I'd appreciate it if you'd leave your wolf here, it's a small apartment.” Meg requested, gazing behind Fraser to the furry, white snout she saw snooping around the office door.   
“Yes, Sir, though he'll be disappointed, they forbid him to be in the psychiatrist's office so he's pouting.” Fraser explained.  
“Does Dr. Chandler know you talk to your wolf like that, Constable?” Meg asked, frowning at him.   
“No, it hasn't come up, why do you ask?” Fraser's tone bordered on hurt.   
“Never mind, Fraser. Dr. Chandler also included a personal note about you, he said that you may consider adopting Calvin, was he correct?” The Inspector peered at him expectantly.   
“I, uh,” he stared at his high browns for a moment, “perhaps.” Ben finally answered, though weakly.   
“Calvin is a wonderful boy, but do think adopting him would be best for him in the long run, law enforcement isn't the safest occupation.” Meg suggested neutrally.   
“It is an option, if Calvin is agreeable.” Fraser stood behind his answer.  
“Let me know if you need any assistance with the paperwork, Constable.” Meg stepped back to her desk chair and sat down. That left Fraser standing in the silence.   
“Is that all, Ma'am?” The Mountie asked dryly.  
“Yes. Dinner is promptly at seven, dismissed.” Meg inspected her computer screen, her dark eyes squinting at the print.  
***


	18. Hell No I Won't Go

Six PM ….  
Meg chose to attempt a stir fry dish with steak strips for dinner. It provided both meat and vegetables in one meal. For dessert she'd bought a fruit salad. Satisfied, the lady Mountie changed into slacks and a light sweater for the evening. Since having Calvin in her apartment, Meg had done more cooking than ever before. Perpetually single, she ate out or bought something ready made at the supermarket.   
“Have you done your homework yet?” Meg asked as she gathered a skillet and spatula.   
“Yeah, I read two chapters of Sleepy Hollow for English, worked the last ten Math problems, that's all there was today.” Calvin flopped down in a kitchen chair and began playing with grains of salt on the table.   
“Are you alright?” Meg asked, wishing she had the words to make him feel better.   
“Yeah, I'm okay I guess. When's Coach get here?” He changed the subject.   
“Constable Fraser should arrive soon, he's always early.” Meg sat down across from the boy. “Have you decided where to stay?” She watched him closely, concern in her dark eyes.   
“No, not really. I wish I could just stay with you and Coach like it is now, but I guess it isn't up to me.” Calvin shrugged, staring intently at the salt beneath his fingertip.   
Meg bit her lip, tempted to tell the boy that Fraser wanted to adopt him. Adopting him for herself had crossed her mind. What would she do if the RCMP reassigned her? It wouldn't be fair to take him out of the country, away from his grandmother, should he want to have a relationship with her.   
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK on the door brought Meg out of her thoughts.   
“That should be Constable Fraser, forty-five minutes early as usual.” Meg grumbled as she stood to answer the door. After unlocking the door and taking off the chain, she let the Mountie inside. He still wore his uniform but carried a fall arrangement of flowers.   
“Good evening, Inspector, Calvin.” Fraser stepped inside after making certain he'd wiped his boots off on the welcome mat.   
“Hey, Coach, we were just talking about you.” Calvin perked up.   
“Only good things, Constable, come in.” Meg took the flowers from him, smelling them as she closed the door. “These are nice, thank you.” She gave him a quick smile.   
“You're welcome, I wasn't certain what to bring, I know you said not to bring anything.”   
Meg watched the Mountie stumble over his words for a moment, hiding a flattered smile behind the flower arrangement.   
“Have a seat, I was just about to begin cooking dinner.” Meg let him off the hook.   
“I'm gonna go read Sleepy Hollow some more, okay?” Calvin stood up from the table and dusted his hands free of salt.   
“Alright, wash up before you set the table, please.” Meg didn't even turn from the stove, just told him what to do as if she'd been doing it his whole life.  
“Sure.” Calvin answered with a shrug.   
“May I be of assistance?” Fraser asked, standing with his hands behind his back.   
“Thank you, I haven't cut all the vegetables yet, there's a cutting board in the cabinet.” Meg pointed with the spatula toward a cabinet above the sink behind her. Without a word, Fraser set himself up to slice and dice the vegetables; onions, red peppers, and banana peppers, to name a few. He'd laid off his tunic and Sam Browne before rolling up his sleeves. Meg loved the domestic look on him. She began to hum softly, intent on cooking.   
“Excuse me,” Fraser spoke very near Meg's ear. Startled, she stepped aside, just in time for him to dump two rolling handfuls of vegetables in the skillet with the steak strips.   
“I can't wait to eat, I was busy and worked through lunch.” Meg spoke, not looking up.   
“I thought about bringing a take-out sandwich for you, I should have asked before going to Dr. Chandler's office.” Fraser washed the cutting board and knife before setting them in the drainer to the right of the sink.   
“That would have been nice, today of all days, Turnbull wasn't in the kitchen baking something.” Meg chuckled. The junior Mountie was a better chef than a crime fighter. His culinary delights had kept Meg from starving through the afternoon more often than she cared to admit.   
“I believe he and Francesca had a dinner date this evening.” Fraser informed her, searching the cabinets for plates.   
“Oh, really, how long have they been dating?” Meg hadn't seen that one coming. She was under the impression that Miss Vecchio intended to become Ms. Fraser, if the Constable would stand still long enough.   
“Not long, only since the Tracy Jenkins concert I believe.” Fraser thought for a moment, “I'm not certain I would call them a couple just yet.” That made him frown.   
“Is Ms. Roma here?” Calvin popped his head into the kitchen.   
“No, she isn't due yet, why?” Meg stirred the vegetables and steak, sparing the boy a glance.  
“I thought I heard people talking.” The boy responded.  
“It's just Constable Fraser and me.” Meg pointed with the spatula, sending a banana pepper strip flying.   
“You two don't usually talk.” Calvin peeked into the skillet.  
“Yes, we do, everyday.” Meg gave him a quizzical look.   
“No, you order and Coach either over explains or says, 'Understood', that's not talking.” Calvin explained. “Your voices sounded like people who like each other.”   
Meg and Fraser exchanged a puzzled look. They had just had a normal, civilian type conversation, a first for them. Absent were tension and second guessing.   
“We don't dislike each other.” Fraser began but stopped before he over explained as Calvin had pointed out.   
The boy smirked and nodded but kept silent.   
“There's a Three's Company re-run on.” Calvin shook his head and left the adults standing awkwardly in the kitchen.   
Meg turned back to the stir fry. It was going to be an interesting evening. She glanced at Fraser as he set the table for four. His broad shoulders and narrow waist above long legs made her want to hug him from behind.   
“Where did that come from?” She asked herself, startled at the urge.“I wonder what he'd do if I did?” Meg wondered, dishing the stir fry into a large, china bowl. For a moment her heart felt heavy, sad that she may never have anyone feel that way about her.   
“There are consequences to every choice.” Meg heard her mother's words in her mind. With a sigh, she set bowl on the kitchen table.   
Callestina Roma arrived a few minutes before seven o'clock. She brought a platter of home made apple turnovers.   
“Hello, Calvin, Fraser, Inspector.” Callestina greeted them, mostly Fraser.   
“Good evening, Ms. Roma.” Fraser greeted her politely.   
“I'll call Calvin.” Meg volunteered, stepping out of the kitchen and into the hall. She and the boy returned a moment later.   
After saying grace, the stir fry began passing around the table. Calvin ate, but only because he had to and Ms. Roma's steady gaze. Meg sensed that no one wanted to bring up the unpleasant subject of Calvin's living arrangements. So she did.  
“Have you decided where you'd like to live, Calvin?” Meg asked plainly. The boy's head flew up, a bite of steak halfway between his plate and mouth.  
“With my grandmother I guess.” He put the fork down and looked from Meg to Ms. Roma.   
“Would you like to be adopted, Calvin, to stay here in Chicago?” Fraser interjected, swiping at his eyebrow with his thumbnail quickly.   
“Yeah, sure, but what about my grandmother?” He frowned, twisting his lips as he thought.  
“You would be able to see her and speak with her on the telephone as often as you'd like.” Fraser answered.   
“Are you offering to adopt him, Constable Fraser?” Callestina asked, her dinner forgotten as well.   
“Yes, I am, it's the least that I can do, after what happened to ….” Fraser trailed off, ducking his head to stare at his plate.   
“Are you aware of the mountain of red tape associated with adoption?” Callestina asked, in a professional tone. Her green eyes studied him carefully.   
“Yes, I am, to which Inspector Thatcher can vouch.” Fraser answered frankly without going into too much detail.   
“You're in a dangerous line of work, especially in your association with the Twenty-seventh Precinct.” The social worker in her manifested clearly.  
“Yes, so I am, on occasion. Between the two, Calvin is my priority.” Fraser assured Ms. Roma.  
“Ms. Hogan and Calvin's mother will have to be notified, they both have a say in the decision.” Callestina spoke gravely, “Until then I'm afraid he'll have to be taken into foster care.” She wiped her fingers on a napkin before laying it on the plate.   
“Why can't I stay with the Inspector, it's worked out for the last week or so.” Calvin piped up.   
“This was a temporary solution, Calvin, I have a set of rules to follow.” Callestina answered patiently.   
“I'm not going anywhere with you.” The boy stood up from the table, his young voice rising and his blue eyes stormy.   
“You don't have a say in the matter, Calvin, I'm sorry.”   
“That's bull, you can't order me around or treat me like a prisoner. I won't go.” He declared.   
“Calvin, it's just for a few days.” Fraser began, trying to calm him down.   
“I just got here, I don't want to go somewhere else and I'm not going to.” He insisted, barely keeping his voice below a shout. With the back of his hand, Calvin brushed threatening tears from his eyes.   
“I will fix this, Calvin.” Fraser assured him.  
“That's what you said before you went inside the hockey rink.” Calvin pointed an accusing finger in Fraser's direction, tears welling now. After a moment of silence around the table, Calvin stormed off toward Meg's spare bedroom.   
“I should talk to him.” Fraser stood up to follow the boy.   
“No, let him cool off.” Callestina shook her head. “One more night won't make a difference, I'll call Ms. Hogan and Charlene Hellman tomorrow and see what I can do, I'll let you know, Constable.” She stood up, worry on her face.   
“Thank you kindly, Ms. Roma.” Fraser managed a weak smile as he stood to escort her to the door only steps away.   
“You'll make an excellent father.” Callestina complimented him before stepping into the hallway. Fraser simply nodded, not so certain.   
“I wasn't expecting Calvin to explode like that.” Meg said, still sitting at her place around the table.   
“Neither was I.” Fraser sat down once again, “I don't blame him though.”   
Meg couldn't resist the urge to lay her hand gently over his. The abject sadness on his face and in his posture tugged at her heart strings. She felt him squeeze her fingers before he looked up into her eyes.   
“I'm sure he didn't mean it, Fraser.” Meg affirmed with a half hearted smile. She knew Calvin's words had hurt Fraser just the same. How could they not? She remembered the night she'd walked into the consulate, into his nightmare.   
“Would you like some help with the dishes?” Fraser changed the subject abruptly.   
“That isn't necessary, there aren't that many.” Meg stood up before he could. She began clearing the table. Unasked, Fraser put the leftovers in Tupperware to refrigerate. Meg washed the dishes while he dried and attempted to put them away.   
“Why don't you take the leftover steak to your wolf, it's best when it's fresh.” Meg offered as she rinsed the sink after pulling the plug.   
“Thank you, he'll enjoy it.” Fraser fetched the leftovers from the fridge while Meg found the aluminum foil.   
“I should be getting back.” Fraser lifted his tunic from the couch and found his Sam Browne and Stetson.   
“I'll see you tomorrow at the consulate.” Meg followed him into the living room, unsure of what to do next. The warmth of Fraser's hand still radiated in her palm. Now wasn't the time for a romantic move though.   
“Good evening, Inspector,” Fraser paused, leaving Meg dangling. “Good evening.” he finally finished. Meg closed the door behind him and latched the security chain. She leaned against the door, listening to his footsteps in the hall.   
“Good night, Ben.” She whispered sadly.   
***


	19. Out on a Limb

The Consulate ….  
Dief lay snoring on his dog bed when Fraser arrived. The wolf didn't miss a beat as the Mountie sat down on his cot.   
“It would have been nice to have someone to talk to.” Fraser groused as he began unlacing his high browns. The wolf began pawing at the air as he dreamed.   
“If only I could sleep as well.” Though he hadn't had any nightmares, Fraser still hadn't slept well since the suicide.   
“Sleep is overrated.” Fraser Sr. spoke from out of the shadows.   
“Dad, hello.” Benton greeted him flatly. He wasn't in the mood for his father's useless advice.   
“I see you're still using my old polishing kit, but you should put something on that scuff across the toe.” The old Mountie pointed to his son's boot.  
“I do not have a scuff, have you lost your vision in the afterlife?” Ben argued, examining the offended boot in the yellow glow of the desk lamp.   
“Yes, you do, it's right there.” Fraser Sr. pointed to a shiny spot on the toe.   
Ben ran his thumb over the spot. It felt as smooth as the rest of the well cared for leather.   
“Why is it so dark in here? Doesn't the RCMP pay the electric bill or something?” Fraser Sr. began blustering, talking with his hands.   
“Dad,” Benton groaned.   
“You're grown and it's still difficult being a parent.” Fraser Sr. shrugged, peering at his son from beneath his lopped off Stetson.   
“I can only imagine.” Ben too sighed, his thoughts strolling back to Calvin.   
“You'll know someday, Son.” Fraser Sr. assured him.   
Ben's gaze settled on his high browns for a long moment. He asked himself if he really had what it took to be a father, even to a ninth grader?   
“What does your Inspector say about your decision to adopt the boy?” Fraser Sr. broke into Ben's thoughts.   
“Inspector Thatcher, she seems supportive.” Ben answered without enthusiasm.  
“A boy needs two parents, Son, you know that better than anyone.” The old man looked his son in the eye, his meaning clear.  
“Dad,” Ben almost moaned, “I haven't even begun the process yet.”   
“You're young, for now, so is the Inspector, there's still time for grandchildren.” Robert Fraser gestured expansively.   
Ben ran his hand down his face, trying to hold his temper and his tongue in check. No one could drive him as crazy as his father. The old man nagged worse than any woman ever could. Ben knew it was mean kindly but it still irked him.   
“I have sentry duty in the morning, I don't have the time or the energy to go into this with you, Dad.” Ben said as mildly as he could.   
“Suit yourself. You'll be my age before you know it and what do you have to show for it?” Robert Fraser warned as he stepped toward the closet door.   
Ben held his head in his hand, counting to ten before speaking. When he looked up the old man had vanished.   
“Good night, Dad.” Ben whispered before sighing. All he wanted to do was go to bed leave his problems behind for a few hours.   
***   
Later that night …   
A bright blue sky dumplinged with clouds backdropped the rough crags and tree covered hills beyond. An ancient pine tree, felled during a storm, lay on it's side, the spiny tip danging over a two hundred foot drop below. Jimmy Hellman sat on the main trunk a few feet from the tip. He peered out at a hawk soaring overhead. Ben saw his sharply defined profile against the brilliant blue sky.   
“Hello, Jimmy.” Ben greeted him cordially.   
“Hi, Coach.”   
The boy nodded, his shoulders hunched in his black hooded jacket. His baggy jeans and scuffed work boots hung on his thin frame. Ben wondered to himself if the boy had eaten that day.   
“It's a beautiful day, have a seat, Coach.” Jimmy patted the tree trunk beside him. It wasn't as big around as Ben's thigh. He walked up to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Tall trees obscured the bottom of the gorge like spikes waiting for the enemy to cross.   
“No, thank you, Jimmy.” Ben declined the seat. Heights didn't bother the intrepid Mountie but something about the precarious position of the boy on the thin tree trunk made his stomach lurch.   
“Come on, it's okay, Calvin and I've been out here lots of times, we live on the edge.” Jimmy gave a lopsided grin and a chuckle.   
“No, no thank you.” Ben declined again. As he watched Jimmy scooted sideways farther along the tree trunk. Ben shuddered at the sight, his pulse racing.  
“It'll hold, Coach, you gotta take a chance sometime.” Jimmy assured him. The boy patted the rough texture of the tree beneath him.   
“It won't let me down like you did, Coach, like you're letting Calvin down.” Jimmy's youthful face took on a dark cast, his blue eyes seeming to glow in their sockets.   
“Jimmy, it isn't that simple, come here and let's talk about this.” Ben stepped closer, his hand out, ready to grab the boy and yank him to safety.   
“All you do is talk, Coach, see where's it got Calvin,” Jimmy's voice distorted, growling, “see where it got me?” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handsaw.   
“Calvin is fine, he's with Inspector Thatcher.” Ben stepped toward the tree trunk, his stomach clamping, bile in his throat.   
“No he isn't, Constable, I'm right here.” Inspector Thatcher's voice made Ben turn around. She stood behind him, dressed in her red serge, her uniform hat pulled firmly over her dark bob.   
“Where is Calvin?” Ben asked, bewildered. In the background he heard Jimmy continuing to saw at the tree trunk.   
“You drove him away. He's lost.” the Inspector answered flatly.   
Ben turned back to Jimmy who had the tree trunk sawed nearly through. His heart seized in his chest and his lungs felt deflated.   
“I guess Calvin don't live on the edge no more, Coach, you pushed him over, just like you pushed me over.” The boy gave the saw a savage shove. The pine groaned beneath him. Jimmy pulled his hood up, shading his face.   
“Jimmy, I'm sorry.” Ben lunged toward the boy who began laughing as he pushed and pulled the hand saw harder every second. As Jimmy sawed he laughed, joined by Inspector Thatcher. Together they cackled like hyenas.   
“Jimmy, stop!” Before Ben could scramble down the tree trunk it gave way under Jimmy's weight. He disappeared into the trees below.   
Ben woke up with a start, bile on the back of his throat. He managed to find the garbage can before emptying his stomach. Dief whined beside him, worried about his human. Ben tried but couldn't manage to control his breathing. He could breath in but not force it out. Drenched in sweat, he staggered out of his home/office and down the hall to the restroom. The image of Jimmy's shadowed face and growling voice haunted the Mountie as he washed his face.   
In the hallway, Dief barked, announcing someone's arrival. Ben heard the front door close and hard heels on the hardwood floor. Quickly, he dried his face and stepped out to meet the Inspector and Calvin.   
“Fraser?” The Inspector stopped in her tracks, her hand on Calvin's shoulder.   
“Inspector, Calvin.” Ben nodded, his hands folded in front of him.   
“What's wrong, Coach, you look awful.” Calvin spoke bluntly.   
“I'm fine, Calvin.” Ben feigned a smile, “Is there something I can help you with, Inspector?”  
“Calvin wanted to speak to you.” She turned from Fraser to the boy, “Let's go into the kitchen, I think Turnbull has something sweet and perhaps some hot chocolate in there.”   
Calvin looked up at her warily for a second. “Okay,” he shuffled off toward the kitchen.   
“We'll wait for you there, Constable.” Meg said, gesturing toward his red long johns.  
“Yes, Sir.” Ben swallowed hard and waited for her to leave before high tailing to his office.   
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a dream that Fraser was standing on a pine tree dangling over a cliff. I'm terrified of heights and woke myself up out of the dream. That's where this nightmare comes from.


	20. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

The Consulate ….  
Ben hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. He didn't bother with shoes, the carpeted floor felt warm enough. Dief trotted along beside him as they walked to the kitchen. The Inspector stood at the stove, a kettle on the front burner. Calvin sat at the table. From their tense body language and grim expressions Ben knew that the Inspector had talked to the boy.   
“Inspector,” Ben spoke quietly, hands behind his back as he stood ad ease.   
“Constable Fraser, I'm sorry if we interrupted your evening, Calvin has something he'd like to say to you.”   
Calvin fidgeted in his seat, avoiding Fraser's gaze, “I'm sorry about what I said, Coach, I know you tried to help Jimmy.”   
“It's alright, Calvin. I understand your position. When my mother passed my father sent me to live with his parents, my grandparents, without a word to me. I barely knew them.” Ben swallowed hard. He hadn't thought of those days so many years ago in quite a while.   
“But you were a little kid, Coach.” Calvin began, jerking his head toward Fraser.  
Fraser heard the Inspector clear her throat in warning. He didn't have to look at her to know the sharp, admonitory look in her dark eyes or the way she pursed her lips tightly. The Mountie's spine straightened though he'd done nothing to admonish.   
“Constable, would you like tea, I'm making some for myself.” The Inspector asked, interrupting a lull in the conversation.  
“Yes, thank you kindly, Inspector.” Fraser answered almost before she finished. He set about gathering mugs and a pack of Oreos Turnbull had in the crisper. Inspector Thatcher made two mugs of tea and one of hot chocolate, complete with mini marshmallows. It never ceased to amaze what Turnbull stocked the kitchen with.   
“Coach,” Calvin began, his light eyes fixed hopefully on Fraser.  
“Yes, Calvin.” Fraser looked back at him, taking a seat at the small table to the side of the kitchen. The Inspector took a seat as well, across from him.  
“Were your grandparents nice?” The boy asked carefully, thoughtfully.   
“Yes, they were. They gave me all they had to offer; education, support, discipline, - love.” Ben quickly met the Inspector's gaze across the table. She took a long sip of her tea, her gaze unreadable.   
“You offered to adopt me, and I'm glad, but I think I'll try living with my grandmother first. Inspector Thatcher let me call her a while ago and we talked about it. Grandma said she wants a second chance. I think I'd like that too.” Calvin's eyes never left his mug of hot chocolate.   
“That's a fine idea, Calvin, I'm glad you've come to a decision.” Fraser patted the boy's shoulder paternally. The Mountie felt a sense of relief. On the other hand he also felt cheated.   
“Inspector Thatcher talked to me after dinner. She makes a lot of sense, sometimes,”   
Fraser heard her huff from behind her mug and saw her dark eyes flash in annoyance.   
“Yes, she does.” Fraser agreed, ignoring Thatcher's irritation.   
Tuesday ….  
Calvin had been gone less than twenty-four hours and Meg missed him dearly already. She missed the company and having someone to take care of besides herself. Passing by the spare bedroom, she stopped at the doorway, her gaze falling on the pristinely made twin bed. For a moment she wondered how Calvin would have decorated the room. Would he have rock band posters on the wall or a constellation on the ceiling? The thought brought a lump to her throat.   
“You have work to do, Meg, it's time to go.” She told herself as she swallowed the lump and pulled herself together.   
***   
Fraser sat at the desk in the foyer, the telephone pressed to his ear when Meg strolled in fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. He stood to attention, the phone still in hand. The scent of coffee wafted toward the front door from the kitchen.   
“Good morning, Sir, I took the liberty of picking up your dry cleaning and taking your pumps to the cobbler for repair.” He covered the telephone mouth piece as he greeted her. His gold buttons gleamed in the diffused morning light from the windows behind Meg. She drank in the sight of him in red serge for a moment. He looked so different from the barefoot guy only days before.   
“Yes, I'll inform her immediately.” Fraser spoke to the person on the other end of the phone line.   
“Inform me of what?” Meg asked as she hung her light jacket in the front closet.  
“That was Ms. Roma, she called to say that Calvin's mother is in a rehab program. Ms. Hellman wanted to say thank you for taking Calvin, that she realized she wasn't capable of taking proper care of him.”   
The news brightened Meg's mood, a bit. She still missed the tow headed boy and his sneaky sense of humor. He'd made a lasting impression on the lady Mountie.   
“I'm glad to hear it, if she's smart she'll realize what a special boy Calvin is.” Meg began sifting through the mail, looking for her own missives. It wouldn't do to act like she actually felt-crappy.  
“He is a special boy.” Fraser agreed, sadness in his voice. Meg caught him looking blankly at the front door, his brows drawn together and his lips set firmly together.   
“You were very good with him, I know it wasn't easy for you.” Meg spoke softly, hoping to avoid eavesdropping.  
“Thank you, Inspector.” Fraser gave her a pleased smile, their eyes locked. He'd simply tried to do for Calvin what he wished someone had done for him as a boy.   
“I miss him too.” Meg admitted, gazing away from those wide blue eyes. For a moment she considered bringing up their misunderstood conversation from a few weeks before. They both wanted children, why couldn't they team up?   
“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher, I contacted the caterer and they want to know how may guests will be at the Diplomat's Benefit this year?” Turnbull's question brought Meg back to the business at hand.   
“Thirty-five to forty, depending on the RSVP's.” Meg took her mail and stepped toward her office, leaving Fraser in the foyer but Turnbull following on her heels.   
“Damn, some days I hate this job.” Meg grumbled mentally, setting aside her thoughts of children and warm, blue eyes.   
The rest of the day went by quickly, planning the Diplomat's Benefit, this year for Juvenile Diabetes. There were flowers to be ordered in certain colors, catering to decide on, and a thousand other details for Meg to nitpick. She left shortly after six that evening after Turnbull helped her on with her jacket. The Inspector looked around for Fraser but he wasn't to be found. With a sigh, Meg left the consulate.  
***   
That Afternoon ….  
Fraser watched the Inspector drive away in her BMW sedan, the tail lights disappearing into traffic as she turned left at the end of the street. The Mountie had been avoiding her all day, choosing to spend his afternoon at the Twenty-seventh Precinct with Ray. The blond detective had greeted him with exuberance. The Mountie hadn't been there to help him with the mountain of paperwork slowly taking over his desk. Four hours later, Fraser stood up, stretched his back and bid his friend goodnight. Dief whined but popped up to his feet, ready for a walk and something to smell besides people's feet.   
“Let's take a stroll along the lake, shall we.” Fraser spoke to the wolf, ambling along behind him. They killed two hours longer, walking along the shore and back to the consulate. Fraser had a lot on his mind, Calvin, Jimmy and his own loneliness. He couldn't shake the look on the Inspector's face either. She'd taken Calvin's departure harder than she cared to admit. Fraser knew he did.   
“Are you having empty nest syndrome, Son?” Fraser Sr's voice pulled Ben out of his thoughts.   
“Something like that I suppose. Good evening, Dad.” Ben greeted his father laconically.   
“That Inspector of yours is feeling the same way.” The elder Mountie kept pace with his son as the wolf zigzagged, sniffing every tire and garbage can along the way.   
“Oh, have you dropped in on her as well?” Fraser asked, tipping his hat to a street walker who gave him a sidelong glance.  
“No, I just know she is, it's maternal instinct and she got a taste of it with the boy. Now she doesn't have anyone to fuss over.” Robert Fraser explained.   
“Oh, okay.” Benton agreed sarcastically, shaking his head. He stopped at the end of the block, waiting for the Inspector to walk down the front steps and climb into her car. It wasn't the first time he'd watched her.   
“Go after her, Son, life is too short.”   
When Ben turned to argue back, the old man had disappeared into the aether. Benton shook his head, aggravated with his father for pulling his vanishing act, as he'd done too often while alive.   
“Come on, Diefenbaker, it's time for dinner.” Ben started toward the consulate.   
That Night ….  
Ben lay in his cot reading The Pearl until the words ran together. He'd read John Steinbeck's classic twice before, thanks to his grandmother. It didn't distract him from his loneliness as it usually did.   
“Oh well, I have a lot on my plate tomorrow anyway.” Ben turned off his light and laid back. He heard Dief's steady breathing from the corner and the sound of cars whizzing by outside. It all made him miss the Territories terribly. A few minutes later he slipped into dreamland.   
~`~`~`~`~   
Ben felt the cool, metal door knob in his right hand while the other grasped a brown paper bag. Turning, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass paned door. He wore his usual, red serge and Stetson, but this time he had another service star and a sergeant's rank.   
“Woof!” Diefenbaker barked, making Ben turn around. The wolf stood in the entrance to the white, picketed fenced yard. On the sidewalk stood a dark haired woman, her hair up in a French twist.   
“I'm coming.” Ben took made certain the door knob was closed and jogged to join Diefenbaker.   
“The school bus will be here in a minute.”   
The woman talking to Ben had turned around, an infant in her arms. Her dark brown eyes and commanding voice caught Ben off guard.  
“Are the boys ready yet, you were supposed to make sure they brushed their teeth.”   
“Meg?” Ben asked, blinking quickly in confusion.  
“That's my name, yes. Now, are Calvin and little Jimmy ready for school?” She shook her head, one eyebrow raised.  
“I'll go double check.” Fraser turned on his heel and walked back up the sidewalk. The door opened as he reached for the knob. Out came Calvin and a dark haired boy of about four with hazel eyes and Ben's mouth and chin.   
“We're ready, Dad.” Calvin greeted, his voice a fresh baritone.   
“Have you brushed your teeth?” Ben asked, coming up blank for anything else to say.   
“We sure did.” the one Ben took to be little Jimmy pipped up, grinning broadly.   
“There's the school bus, come on everyone.” Meg urged them.   
Ben walked Calvin and little Jimmy to the yellow vehicle, his hand on the four year olds shoulder.   
“Hey, Coach.”   
Ben looked up at the diver, an older version of Jimmy Hellman.  
“Hello, Jimmy.” The dreaming Mountie stood gape mouthed, looking at the young man wearing a blue uniform shirt and dark pants, his hand on the door mechanism.   
“I'm doin' fine, Coach, just like my name sake here.” Jimmy Hellman chuckled, nodding toward the small boy determined to climb the high steps without Calvin's help.   
“Have a good day at school, boys, call the consulate if you need either of us.” Meg stepped up beside Ben, a smile on her face.   
“I love you, Mom.” little Jimmy called from the first seat behind the driver.   
“See you this afternoon, Meg.” Calvin called, sitting behind little Jimmy.   
Ben watched Jimmy Hellman close the door before pulling onto the next street.   
“That's Jimmy Hellman, he's supposed to ….”   
“He's subbing this week.” Meg cut Ben off. “Come on, it's your turn to change Raymond's diaper.” She turned to go back in the house.   
Ben walked up the steps behind Meg, as he started to step through the door behind her, it slammed in his face.   
“Meg?” He called loudly.  
~`~`~`~`~  
“Meg?”   
She heard her name being called from deep within the consulate. Heels thumping against the floor, she jogged toward Constable Fraser's home/office.   
“He's having another nightmare.” She thought to herself.   
“Constable Fraser,” Meg said loudly into the darkness. “Blast it, he always keeps the blinds drawn at night, I can't see my hand in front of my face.” she fumed to herself, fumbling for the desk lamp's switch.   
“Meg, have you changed Raymond's diaper? I thought you said it was my turn.” He sat up in his cot, his voice muffled by sleep.  
“Diaper?” Meg muttered just as her fingers found the rolling switch on the golden colored lamp stand. A loud snore from the corner startled her.   
“Diefenbaker!” Meg clasped her heart as if that would stop it racing in her chest.  
“Meg, ah, Inspector?” Ben's voice sounded clearer this time.  
“It's me, Constable. I think you were having another nightmare.” She explained quickly.   
“I was dreaming, Sir, but not a nightmare.” Ben swung his legs over the side of the cot and, dragging the blanket with him, stood up. The dim, yellow light from the desk lamp illuminated the desk but very little else, leaving their faces in shadow.  
“What were you saying about a diaper?” Meg wondered, her heart finally beating normally.   
“I was dreaming you held a baby, Sir.” He answered, smoothing his brow with the thumbnail not busy holding a blanket to hide his red long johns.   
“Me, a baby?” Meg scoffed, shifting her weight to her right foot.   
“Yes, apparently in the dream you and I had two children, little Jimmy and an infant called Raymond. We were seeing little Jimmy and Calvin to the school bus. Jimmy Hellman was the driver.” Ben explained, the words tumbling.   
“It wasn't a nightmare then?” Meg asked.   
“No, Sir.” Fraser answered.   
“Good, Dr. Chandler will be relieved to hear that.” She nodded.   
A long, silent moment stretched between them. Ben stood in his long johns, Meg in a pair of jeans and RCMP sweatshirt. Dief had woken but lay with his head between his paws, watching the humans talk.   
“Is there something I can help you with, Inspector?” Fraser finally asked nervously.  
“Oh, no, I came to make certain I had, that I'd turned off my computer, I forgot one day last week.” Meg explained quickly, grasping at straws.   
“Ah, I see, very prudent, Sir.”   
Meg knew that he didn't believe her for a second but what could she say? “I was lonely and wondered if you were too?” Hardly. Hearing Fraser call her name in the darkness had scared her. Thankfully, this time his voice hadn't been full of terror.   
“I wonder how Calvin is doing at his grandmother's house.” Fraser offered neutrally, watching Meg.   
“I'm going to call him tomorrow evening. He asked Ms. Roma to give me his grandmother's phone number.” Meg answered, wishing she could just go down the hall and peek in at him sleeping instead.   
“Please, pass along greetings from me and Diefenbaker as well.” Ben adjusted the blanket he held.   
“Well, I should check my computer and go home.” Meg turned, holding her purse strap on her shoulder. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to sit at the small kitchen table and hear all about Ben's dream. Her apartment might as well have been a tomb with all the life left there without Calvin.   
“I think I'll have a mug of chamomile tea, would you care for some, Inspector?” Fraser asked before she could take two steps.  
“It's late, I should go,” Meg felt herself waffling.   
“I believe Turnbull baked sugar cookies, in honor of his mother's birthday.” Fraser offered.   
“His mother's birthday?” Meg smiled. It didn't take much to get Turnbull to cook or bake something.   
“Yes, her fifty-ninth I believe.” Fraser smiled as well.   
“I think I can eat a sugar cookie, in honor of Mrs. Turnbull's fifty-ninth birthday.” Meg lead the way to the kitchen, pausing only long enough to lay her purse on a bench in the hallway. Fraser came in behind her, a pair of jeans over his long johns but no shoes.   
Twenty minutes later, Meg and Fraser sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and chasing cookie crumbs.   
“Do you think you'll have any more nightmares?” Meg asked, sitting her tea mug on a napkin.   
“No, I don't think so. I believe my mind is at ease now that Calvin is with his grandmother.” Fraser answered truthfully.   
“A happy ending?” Meg asked philosophically.   
“Yes, I hope so.”   
“If only we all go a happy ending.” Meg said darkly, distracted by her own thoughts. She felt Ben's large, warm hand envelop hers. Surprised, she looked over at him.   
“My grandmother always said we make our own happy endings.” Ben's voice, that wonderful, vibrating voice she'd only heard so clearly tied together in a rattling train car, melted her defenses.   
“There aren't many second chances in this life, are there?” Meg asked. She couldn't make herself look away from Ben's probing gaze. He had just as much to lose and Meg knew it.   
“A few, if we're lucky.” He pulled her hand closer, his fingers edging toward her wrist.   
“For everyone?” Meg whispered, her gaze unwavering.   
“Everyone.” Ben pulled her palm to his lips and pressed a soft kiss along her love line.   
“Your grandmother was a very wise woman.” Meg caressed his cheek with her fingertips. She felt Ben's chuckle reverberate from his chest, up through his throat and against her hand.   
“I agree.” He leaned into her hand.   
“So, a promotion and two children?” Meg smiled, “That is a nice dream.”   
“Would you like to hear more about it?” Ben asked.   
“I would love to.” She gave him a dazzling smile.  
~`~`~`~`~   
“Funny, Mother never said anything about second chances to me.” Robert Fraser frowned. The old ghost shook his head as he and Diefenbaker passed through the open kitchen door and into the hallway.   
The End


End file.
